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PO E M S 

OF 

MEMORY AND HOPE 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING, 

WiTll ILLUSTRATIONS KV HENNESS? ANO THWAITES, 





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N E W V R K : 

P r BLIS 11 E D B Y .1 A M E S Mil. L E K, 

6 it BROAD W A Y . 

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Entered according ti» Act of Congress, in the year 1871, 

By .1 A M E S M 1 L L K R, 

In the Olliee of the Librarian of Congress, :it Washington. 



(CONTENTS. 



Pach 

1. Memory and Hope 5 

2. Change upon Change in 

8. A (."nun's Thought o\- (ion 11 

4. Little M urn: 12 

5. Isok.ki.'s ('nun 1(5 

(i. Tin: !'ir N*AME 89 

7. The Mourning Mother ok the Dead Blind 43 

8. Rhyme of the Duchess May 40 

"Oh, THE LITTLE BIRDS BANG EAST, AND THE LITTLE BIRDS 
SANG WEST." 

9. A Child's Grave at Florence 76 

10. Only a Curj 81 

11. The Romance ok the Sw an's N est 85 

12. The Fourfold A.speot 91 

13. Tin" Virgin M viiy to the Child Jesus 97 

14. The Cri of the Children 105 

15. Tiik. Deserted Garden 113 

li). Hector in tiik. Garden 118 

17. To Betttne, the Child Friend of Goethe 123 

18. A Song against Singing 126 

19. Sleeping and Watching 128 

20. The Lost Bower 130 

21. A Tale of Vili afranoa 149 

22. A Portrait 15:; 

23. Void in Law 157 

24. My Child . Ml 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



1. Hope Hennessy Title. 

2. Isobel's Child .Thwaitea 17 

3. Rhyme of the Duchess May " 53 

4. Tin-: Romance of the Swan's Nest.. " 85 

5. " " " Hennessy 89 

6. The Fourfold Aspect Clayton 93 

7. The Cry of the Children Hennessy 109 

8. Bettine " 123 

9. The Lost Bower Thwaitea 135 

10. " " " Hennessy 143 

11. A Portrait Thwaitea 153 

12. u Hennessy 155 



POEMS 



MEMORY AND HOPE 



MEMORY AND HOPE. 

Back-looking Memory 
And prophet Hope both sprang from out the ground , 
One, where the Hashing of Cherubic sword 

Fell sad, in Eden's ward ; 
And one, from Eden earth, within the sound 
Of the four rivers lapsing pleasantly, 
What time the promise after curse was said — 

"Thy seed shall bruise his head." 

Poor Memory's brain is wild, 
As moonstruck by that flaming atmosphere 
When she was born. Her deep eyes shine and shone 

With light that conquereth sun 
And stars to wanner paleness year by year ; 
With odorous gums, she mixeth things defiled ; 
She trampleth down earth's grasses green and sweet, 

With her far-wandering feet. 



ftl E M K Y A M D HO P E . 

She plucketh many flowers, 
Their beauty on her bosom's coldness killing ; 
She teacheth every melancholy sound 

To winds and waters round ; 

She droppeth tears with seed, where man is tilling 
The rugged soil in his exhausted hours : 
She smileth — ah me ! in her smile doth go 
A mood of deeper woe ! 

Hope r ripped on put of sight 
Crowned with Eden wreath she saw not wither. 
And went a-nodding through the wilderness, 

With brow that shone no less 
Than a sea-gull's wing, brought nearer by rough weather; 
Searching the treeless rock for fruits of light ; 
Her fair quick feet being armed from stones and cold, 

By slippers ot % pure gold. 

Memory did Hope much wrong. 
And. while she dreamed, her slippers stole away : 
But still she wended on with mirth unheeding. 

Although her feet were bleeding; 
Till Memory tracked her on a certain day, 
And with most evil eyes did search her long 
And cruelly, whereat she sunk to ground 

In a stark deadly swound. 



M E M O B Y AND H P K. 

And so my hope were slain, 
Had it not been that thod wert standing near, 
Oh Thon, who saidest " live" to creatures lying 

In their own blood and dying! 
For Thou her forehead to thine heart didst rear 
And make its silent pulses sing again, — 
Pouring a new light o'er her darkened eyne, 

With tender tears from Thine ! 



Therefore my hope arose 
From out her swound and gazed upon Thy face, 
And, meeting there that soft subduing look 

Which Peter's spiiit shook, 
Sank downward in a rapture to embrace 
Thy pierced hands and feet with kisses close, 
And prayed Thee to assist her evermore 

To " reach the things before.'" 



Then gavest Thon the smile 
Whence angel-wings thrill quick like summer lightning, 
Vouchsafing rest beside Thee, where she never 

From Love and Faith may sever ; 
Whereat the Eden crown she saw not whitening 
A time ago, though whitening all the while, 
Reddened with life, to hear the Voice which talked 

To Adam as lie walked. 



U II V N Q K l PO N C 11 A N G K. 




C H A N G K PO N C U A N G K. 

Five months ago, the stream did flow, 

The lilies bloomed within the sedge ; 
And v* o wore lingering to and fro, — 
Where none will track thee in this snow. 

Along the stream, beside the hedge 
Ah, sweet, be tree to love and go ! 

For it [do not hear thy foot, 

The frozen river is as unite. 

The flowers have dried down to the root ; 

Ami why, since these be changed since May 
Shouldst thou change less than they f 



And slow, slow, as the winter snow. 
The teais have drifted to mine eyes; 

And my poor cheeks, five months ago, 

Set blushing at thy praises so. 
Put paleness on u>v a disguise. 

Ah, sweet, be free to praise and go ! 
For it' my face is turned to pah, 
I; was thine oath, that tirst did tail, — 
It was thy love proved false and frail ! 
And why. since these be changed enow, 
Should / change less than t/i- 



A C H I I. l> S T II V G II T o v G O D. 



1 1 




A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF <H)l> 

They say that God lives very high. 
But if you look above the pines 

You cannot see our God ; and why ? 

And if you dig down in the mines 
You never see Him in the gold ; 
Though, from Him, all that's glory shines 

God is so good, He wears a fold 

Of heaven and earth aeross his face 
Like secrets kept, for love, untold 

But still I feel that His embrace 

Slides down by thrills, through all things made. 
Through sight and sound of every place. 



As it' my tender mother laid 

On my shut lids, her kisses' pressure 1 . 
Half-waking me at night, and said 

"Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?' 



12 



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LITTLE MATTIE. 



Dead ! Thirteen a month ago ! 

Short and narrow her life's walk 
Lover's love she could not know 

Even by a dream or talk : 
Too young to be glad of youth ; 

Missing honour, labour, rest, 
And the warmth of a babe's mouth 

At the blossom of her breast. 
Must you pity her for this. 
And for all the loss it is — 
You, her mother with wet face, 
Saving had all in your ease? 



Just so young- but yesternight, 

Now she is as old as death. 
Meek, obedient in your sight, 

Gentle to a beck or breath 
Only on last Monday ! yours. 

Answering- you like silver belli 



1. l TT I. I' M v T i' l E, 

Lightly touched ! an hour matures 

You can teach her nothing else 
She lias seen the mystery hid 
Under Egypt's pyramid. 
By those eyelids pale and close 

Now she knows what Khamses knows. 



Cross her quiet hands, and smooth 

Down her patient locks o[' silk, 
("ohl and passive as in truth 

You your fingers in spilt milk 
Drew along a marble floor ; 

But her lips you cannot wring 
Into saying a word more, 

•• Yes" or " uo," or such a thing. 
Though you call and beg and wreak 
Half your soul out in a shriek, 
She will lie there in default 

And most innocent revolt. 



A.y, and if she spoke, may he 
She would answer like the Son, 

•'What is now 'twixt thee and me?" 
Dreadful answer ! hotter none. 

Yours on Monday, God's to-day | 

Yours, your child, your blood, your heart 



U P i: M s p 11 i i D II l>. 

Called . . . you called her, did von say, 

" Little Mattie" for your part ? 
\\>w already it sounds strange, 
And you wonder, in this change, 
What Be calls His angel-creature, 
Higher up than you can reach her, 



'Twas a green and easy world 

As she took it ! room to play, * 
(Though one's hair might get uncurled 

At the far end of the day.) 
What she suffered she shook off 

In the sunshine ; what she sinned 
She could pray on high enough 

To keep sale above the wind, 
[f reproved by God or you, 
'Twas to better her she know ; 
Ami, if crossed, she gathered still 
"Twas to cross out something" ill. 



You, you had the right, you thought, 
To survey her with sweet scorn, 

Poor gay child, who had not caught 
Yot the octave-stretch forlorn 

Oi' your larger wisdom ! Nay, 

Now your places are changed 80, 



L I I'T L E M \ IT ! 



15 



In that sarttC superior w;i \ 

Sho regards you dull and low 
As you did herself exempt 
Prom life's sorrows, Grand contempt 
or the spirits risen awhile, 
Who look back with such a smile! 



There's the sting oft. That, I think, 
Hurls the most, a thousandfold ! 

To feel sudden, a. I ;i wink, 

Some dear child we used in scold, 

Praise, love both Ways, kiss and lease, 

Teach and tumble as our own 
All its curls about our knees, 
l.'i ic up suddenly full-grown. 

Who COUld wonder such a, si-ht 

Made a woman mad i >u1 right ? 

Show me Michael with the sword 
Rather than such angels, Lord ! 




16 



MS 




[SOB£L'S rill! D 

s 

To rest tl - tsgoi 

An eight-da^? watch had watched - 
Si ill rocking I 

[sobel its ■ 

- fever waneth — wend to I 
For now the watch c 



wrilv the nnrse did thi 
Her pallet in the darkest | 
0( that sick room, and slept an 
For as the gustv wind did blow 
night-lamp's glare across her ft 
saw, or seemed to see, but d 
That the poplars tall on th< - te hill, 

seven tall poplars hill, 

setting sum until 



[SOB E i.'s 11 1 LD 



17 



His rays dropped from him, pined and still 
As blossoms in IV" S 1 • 




Till he waned and paled, so weirdly crossed, 
To the colour of moonlight which doth pass 



18 PO E M S F C H I L D H P. 

Over the dank ridged churchyard grass. 

ie poplars held the sun, and he 
The eyes of the nurse that they should not see. 
Not tor a moment, the babe on her knee. 
Though she shuddered to feel that it grew to be 
Too chill, and lav too heavily. 



She only dreamed ; for all the while 
Twas Ladj Lsobel that kept 
The little baby. — and it slept 
Fast. warm, as if its mother's smile. 
Laden with love's dewy weight, 
And red as rose of Harpocrate 
Drop! upon its eyelids, pressed 
Lashes to cheek in a sealed rest. 



And more and more smiled lsobel 
To see the baby sleep so well — 

She knew not that she smiled. 
Against the lattice dull and wild 
Drive the heavy droning- drops, 
Drop by drop, the sound being one — 
As momently time's segments fall 
On the ear of Cod, who hears throng 

Eternity's unbroken monotone. 
And more and more smiled lsobel 
To see the baby sleep 5 w 



ISO b el's child. 19 

She knew not that she smiled. 
The wind in intermission stops 
Down in the beorlien forest, 

Then cries aloud 

As one at tlu v sorest, 

Self-Stung, self-driven, 

And rises up to its very tops, 

Stiffening ereel the branches bowed, 

Dilating with a tempest-soul 

The trees that with their dark hands break 
Through their own outline and heavily roll 

Slnulows as massive as clouds in heaven, 
Across the castle lake. 

And more and more smiled Isobel 

To see the baby sloop so well : 

She knew not that she smiled ; 
She knew not that the storm was wild. 
Through the 1 uproar drear she could not hear 
The castle clock which struck anear — 
She heard the low, light breathing of her child. 



siirht for wondering 1 look ! 
While the external nature broke 
Into such abandonment, 
While the very mist heart-rent 
By the lightning, seemed to eddy 
Against nature, with a din, 



PO B M s P C H \ I D H P. 

A sense of sileuce and of steady 
Natural calm appeared to come 
From things without, and enter in 
The human creature's room. 

So motionless she sate, 
The babe asleep upon her knees, 
Yon might have dreamed their souls had gone 
Awav to tilings inanimate, 

In such to live, in such to moan ; 

And that their bodies had ta'en bark. 
In mystic change, all silences 
That cross the Bky in cloudy rack, 
Or dwell beneath the reedy ground 
In waters safe from their own sound. 

Only site wore 
The deepening smile 1 named before, 
And that a deepening love expressed ; 

And who at oiuv can love and ivst '. 



In sooth the smile that then was keeping 
Watch upon the baby sleeping, 
Floated with its tender light 
Downward, from the drooping eyes, 

I pward, from the lips apart. 

Own- cheeks which had grown white 
With an eight-day weeping. 



1 BO B E I, s cm I, I). 



2\ 



All smiles come in such a wise, 

Where tears shall fall «»r have of old - 
lake northern lights thai till the heart 
or heaven in sign of cold. 



Mol ionlcss she sale. 

Her hair had fallen by its weight 

Oil each side of her smile, and lav 
Very hlacklv on the arm 

Where the baby nestled warm, 
Tale as baby carved in stone 

Seen by glimpses ol* the moon 
[Jp a dark cathedral aisle. 

But, through the storm, no moonbeam fell 
[Jpon the child of [sobel 
Perhaps you saw it by the ray 

Alone ol" her still smile. 



A solemn thing il is to me 

To look upon a babe that sleeps ; 

Wearing in its spirit-deeps 
The undeveloped mystery 

Of our Adam's taint and woe. 
Which, when they developed be, 

Will not lei il slumber so ! 

Lying new in life beneath 



22 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

The shadow of the coming death, 
With that soft, low, quiet breath, 

As if it felt the sun ! 
Knowing all things by their blooms, 
Not their roots, yea, sun and sky, 
Only by their warmth that comes 
Out of each, — earth, only by 
The pleasant hues that o'er it run, — 
And human love, by drops of sweet 
White nourishment still hanging round 
The little mouth so slumber-bound. 
All which broken sentiency 
And conclusion incomplete, 
Will gather and unite and climb 
To an immortality 
Good or evil, each sublime, 
Through life and death to life again. 
little lids now folded fast, 
Must ye learn to drop at last 
Our large and burning tears? 
warm quick body, must thou lie, 
When the time comes round to die, 
Still, from all the whirl of years, 
Rare of all the joy and pain ? — 
small frail being, wilt thou stand 

At God's right hand, 
Lifting up those sleeping eyes 
Dilated by great destinies, 



ISO B E l's child. 2'> 

To an endless taking? thrones and seraphim, 

Through the long ranks of their solemnities, 
Sunning thee with calm looks of* Heaven's surprise, 

But thine alone on Him ? — 
Or else, self-willed, to tread the Godless place, 
(God keep thy will !) feel thine own energies 
('old, strong, objectless, like a dead man's clasp, 
The sleepless deathless life within thee, grasp, — 
While myriad faces, like one changeless face, 
With woe not love's, shall glass thee everywhere, 
And overcome thee with thine own despair? 



More soft, less solemn images 
Drifted o'er the lady's heart, 

Silently as snow. 
She had seen eight days depart 
Hour by hour, on bended knees, 
With pale-wrung hands and prayings low 
And broken, through which came the sound 
Of tears that fell against, the ground, 
Making sad stops :— " Dear Lord, dear Lord !" 
She still had prayed, (the heavenly word, 
Broken by an earthly sigh) 
— "Thou, who didst not erst deny 
The mother-joy to Mary mild, 
Blessed in the blessed child, 
Which barkened in meek babyhood 



24 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Her cradle-hymn, albeit used 
To all that music interfused 
In breasts of angels high and good ! 
Oil, take not, Lord, my babe away — 
Oh, take not to thy songful heaven 
The pretty baby thou hast given, 
Or ere that I have seen him play 
Around his father's knees and known 
That he knew how my love has gone 

From all the world to him. 
Think, God among the cherubim, 
How I shall shiver every day 
In thy June sunshine, knowing where 
The grave-grass keeps it from his fair 
Still cheeks ! and feel at every tread 
His little body which is dead 
And hidden in the turfy fold, 
Both make thy whole warm earth a-cold ! 

God, I am so young", so young — 

1 am not used to tears at nights 
Instead of slumber — nor to prayer 
With sobbing lips and hands out-wrung ! 
Thou knowest all my prayings were 

1 1 bless thee, God, for past delights — 

Thank God !' I am not used to bear 

Hard thoughts of death ; the earth doth cover 

No face from me of friend or lover. 

And must the first who teaches me 



ISOBEL'S CHILI). 25 

The form of shrouds and funerals, be 
Mine own first-born beloved ? he 
Who taught me first this mother-love ! 
Dear Lord, who spreadest out above 
Thy loving, transpierced hands to meet 
All lifted hearts with blessings sweet,— 
Pierce not my heart, my tender heart, 
Thou madest tender ! Thou who art 
So happy in thy heaven alway ! 
Take not mine only bliss away 1" 



She so had prayed : and God, who hears 
Through seraph-songs the sound of tears, 
From that beloved babe had ta'en 
The fever and the beating pain. 
And more and more smiled Isobel 
To see the baby sleep so well, 

(She knew not that she smiled I wis) 
Until the pleasant gradual thought 
Which near her heart the smile enwrought, 
Now soft and slow, itself, did seem 
To float along a happy dream, 

Beyond it into speech like this. 



" I prayed for thee, my little child, 
And God has heard my prayer ! 



26 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

And when thy babyhood is gone, 

We two together undented 

By men's repinings, will kneel down 

Upon His earth which will be fair 

(Not covering thee, sweet !) to us twain, 

And give him thankful praise." 

Dully and wildly drives the rain. 
Against the lattices drives the rain. 

" I thank Him now, that I can think 

Of those same future days, 
Nor from the harmless image shrink 

Of what I there might see — 
Strange babies on their mothers' knee, 
Whose innocent soft faces might 
From off mine eyelids strike the light, 
With looks not meant for me !" 

Gustily blows the wind through the rain, 
As against the lattices drives the rain. 

" But now, baby mine, together, 
We turn this hope of ours again 
To many an hour of summer weather, 
When we shall sit and intertwine 
Our spirits, and instruct each other 



I SO BE l's CHILD. 27 

Iii the pure loves of child and mother ! 
Two human loves make one divine." 

The thunder tears through the wind and the rain, 
As full on the lattices drives the rain. 

" My little child, what wilt thou choose ? 
Now let me look at thee and ponder. 
What gladness, from the gladnesses 
Futurity is spreading under 
Thy gladsome sight? Beneath the trees 
Wilt thou lean all day, and lose 
Thy spirit with the river seen 
Intermittently between 
The winding beechen alleys, — 
Half in labour, half repose, 
Like a shepherd keeping sheep, 
Thou, with only thoughts to keep 
Which never a bound will overpass, 
And which are innocent as those 
That feed among Arcadian valleys 
Upon the dewy grass ?" 

The large white owl that with age is blind, 
That hath sate for years in the old tree hollow. 
Is carried away in a gust of wind ! 
His wings could bear him not as fast 



a 8 



V K MS OK CHILDHOOD 



As he goeth now the lattice past 

Ho is borne by the winds ; the rains do follow 

His white wings to the blast out-flowing, 

He hooteth in going, 
And still, in the lightnings, coldly glitter 

His round unblinking eyes, 

'• Or, baby, wilt thou think it fitter 

To be eloquent and wise, — 

One upon whose lips the air 

'Turns to solemn verities, 

For men to breathe anew and win 

V deeper-seated life within? 

Wilt be a philosopher, 

By whoso voice the earth and skies 

Shall speak to the unborn : 

Or a poet, broadly spreading 

The golden immortalities 

Of thy sotd on uatures lorn 

And poor ofsuch, them all to guard 

From their decay, — beneath thy treading, 

Earth's flowers recovering hues of Eden, - 

And stars drawn downward by thy looks. 

To shine ascendant in thv books " 



The tame hawk in the castle-yard, 

How it screams to the lightning, with its wot 



/ OB EL 5 C J/ J J. i/. 29 

Jagged plunu ov< rbanging the parapet ! 
And at the lady's door the bound 
Scratches with a i rand. 

' : Bat, my babe, thy li'. 1 \ are laid 

Clo ipon thy check, — 

And not a dream of pc^n been 

Can make a pa isage np between ; 
'I by heai I i of thy mother's made, 

'\'\iy looks ar< 
And it, will be their chosen place 
To f vne beloved face, 

< on thine and let the noise 
Of the whole world go on, nor drown 

The tender silence of thy j 
Or when that silence shall have groi i 
Too tender for itself, the same 
j ning for sound,— to look ab 
And utter its one meaning, l 

That He may hear Bis name !'' 

No wind, no rain, no thunder ! 

The waters had trickled not -lowly, 
The thnnder was not spent, 
Nor the wind near finishing. 
Who would hare said that the storm w 
diminishing ''. 



30 V O K MS F CH1LDH L> . 

No wind, do rain, no thunder ! 
Their noises dropped asunder 
From the earth and the firmament, 
From the towers and the lattiees. 
Abrupt and eeholess 
As ripe fruits on the ground unshaken wholly— 

As life in death ! 
And sudden and solemn the silence fell, 
Startling- the heart of Isobel 

As the tempest could not. 
Against the door went panting' the breath 
Of the lady's hound whose cry was still. 
And she. constrained howe'er she would not, 
Lifted her eyes, and saw the moon 
Looking out of heaven alone 
Upon the poplared hill, — 
A calm of God. made visible 
That men might bless it at their will. 



The moonshine on the baby's face 
Falleth clear and cold. 

The mother's looks have fallen back 

To the same place : 
Because no moon with silver rack. 
Nor broad sunrise in jasper skies 
Has power to hold 
Our loving eves. 



IS0BELS CHILD. 3 ] 

Which still revert as ever must 
Wonder and Hope, to gaze on the dust. 

The moonshine on the baby's face 

Cold and clear remaineth. 
The mother's looks do shrink away, — 
The mother's looks return to stay, 

As charmed by what paineth. 
Is any glamour in the case t 
Is it dream or is it sight ? 
Hath the change upon the wild 
Elements, that signs the night, 

Passed upon the child ? 
It is not dream, but sight ! — 

The babe has awakened from sleep, 
And unto the gaze of its mother 
Bent over it, lifted another ! 
Not the baby looks that go 
Unaimingly to and fro, 
But an earnest gazing deep, 
Such as soul gives soul at length, 
When, by work and wail of years, 
It winneth a solemn strength, 
And mourneth as it wears. 
A strong man could not brook 
With pulse unhurried by fears, 



32 P E M S F C H I L I> II D . 

To meet that baby's look 
O'erglazed by manhood's tears — 
The tears of a man full grown, 
With a power to'wring our own, 
Iu the eyes all andefiled 
Of a little three-months' child ! 
To see that babe-brow wrought 
By the witnessing of thought, 
To judgment's prodigy ! 
And the small soft mouth unweaned, 
By mother's kiss o'erleaned, 
(Putting the sound of loving 
Where no sound else was moving. 
Except the speechless cry) 
Quickened to mind's expression, 
Shaped to articulation, 
Yea. uttering words — yea, naming' woe. 
In tones that with it strangely went. 
Because so baby-innocent. 
As the child spake out the mother so. — 



"0 mother, mother, loose thy prayer ! 

Christ's name hath made it strong. 
It bindeth me, it holdeth me 
With its most loving cruelty. 
From floating my new soul along 

The happy heavenly air. 



ISOB EL'S CHILD. 33 

It bindeth mc, it holdeth me 
In all this dark, upon this dull 
Low earth, by only weepers trod ! — 
It bindeth me, it holdeth me ! — 
Mine angel looketh sorrowful 
Upon the face of God.* 

" Mother, mother, can I dream 

Beneath your earthly trees ? 

I had a vision and a gleam — 

I heard a sound more sweet than these 

When rippled by the wind. 
Did you see the Dove with wings 
Bathed in golden glisterings 
From a sunless light behind, 
Dropping on mc from the sky 
Soft as a mother's kiss until 
I seemed to leap, and yet was still ? 
Saw you how His love-large eye 
Looked upon me mystic calms, 
Till the power of his divine 
Vision was indrawn to mine ? 

" Oh, the dream within the dream ! 
I saw celestial places even. 

* For T say unto you, that in Heaven their angels do always behold the 
face of my Father which is in Heaven. — Matt. eh. xviii., ver. 10. 

9* 



34 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Oh, the vistas of high palms, 
Making fiuites of delight 
Through the heavenly infinite — 
Lifting up their green still tops 

To the heaven of Heaven ! 
Oh, the sweet life-tree that drops 
Shade like light across the river 
Glorified in its for ever 

Flowing from the Throne ! 
Oh, the shining holinesses 
Of the thousand, thousand faces 
God-sunned by the throned One ! 
And made intense with such a love. 
That though I saw them turned above, 
Each loving seemed for also me ! 
And, oh, the Unspeakable, the He, 
The manifest in secrecies, 
Yet of mine own heart partaker, — 
With the overcoming look 
Of One who hath been once forsook, 

And blessed the forsaker. 
Mother, mother, let me go 
Toward the Face that looketh so. 
Through the mystic, winged Four 
Whose are inward, outward eyes 
Dark with light of mysteries, 
And the restless evermore 
1 Holv, holy, holy' — through 



ISO b el's CH I LD. 35 

The sevenfold Lamps that burn in view 
Of cherubim and seraphim, — 
Through the four-and-twenty crowned 
Stately elders, white around, 
Suffer me to 2*0 to Him ! 



" Is your wisdom very wise, 
Mother, on the narrow earth, 
Very happy, very worth 
That I should stay to learn ? 
Are these air-corrupting sighs 
Fashioned by unlearned breath ? 
Do the students' lamps that burn 
All night, illumine death ? 
Mother, albeit this be so, 
Loose thy prayer, and let me go 
Where that bright chief angel stands 
Apart from all his brother bands, 
Too glad for smiling, having bent 
In angelic wilderment 
O'er the depths of God, and brought 
Reeling thence, one only thought 
To fill his whole eternity. 
He the teacher is for me ! — 
He can teach what I would know — 
Mother, mother, let me go ! 



$6 PO E M S F C H 1 l. D H D. 

"Can your poet make an Eden 

No wiuter will undo, 
And light a starry fire while heeding 

His hearth's is burning too! 
Drown in music the earth's din, 
And keep his own wild BOul within 
The law of his own harmony ; — 
Mother, albeit this be so, 
Let me to my Heaven go ! 
A little harp me waits thereby — 
A harp whoso strings arc golden al 
And tuned to music spherical, 
Hanging on toe green life-tree 
Where no willows ever bo. 
Shall 1 miss that harp of mine? 
Mother, no !— the Bye divine 
Turned upon it. makes it shine : 
And when 1 touch it. poems sweet 
Like separate souls shall fly from it. 

Each to an immortal t'ytto. 

Wo shall all ho poets there, 
Gazing on the chiefest Fair. 



"Love ! earth's love ! and can wo love 
Fixedly where all things move : 
Can the sinninsr love each other : 



I s o I! E l.'s 11 I L I). ;>1 

Mother, mother, 
1 tremble in thy close embrace, 
1 feel thy tears adown my lace, 
Thy prayers »1<> keep me out of bliss — 

dreary earthly love ! 
Loose thy prayer and let me go 
To the place which loving is, 

Yet not sad ; and when is given 

Escape to tkee from this below, 
Thou shall behold me that 1 wait 
For thoo beside the happy Gate, 

And silence shall be up in heaven 
To hear our greeting kiss." 



The nurse awakes in the morning sun, 
And starts to sec beside her bed 
The lady with a grandeur spread 
lake pathos o'er her face, — as one 
God-satisfied and earth-undone. 

The babe upon her arm was dead ! 
And the nurse could utter forth no cry, — 
She was awed by the calm in the mother's eye. 



" Wake, nurse !" the lady said ; 

"II care waking — he and I — 
I, on earth, and he, in sky ! 



88 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

And thou must help me to o'erlay 
With garment white, this little clay 
Which needs no mere our lullaby. 



"I changed the eruel prayer I made. 

And bowed my meekened Pace, and prayed 

That God would do His will ! and thus 

lie did it. nurse ! lie parted us. 

And His sun shows victorious 

The dead calm t'aee. — and / am calm, 

And Heaven is barkening- a new psalm. 



"This earthly noise is too anoar. 
Too loud, and will not let me hear 
The little harp. My death will soon 
Make silence." 

And a sense of tune. 
A satisfied love meanwhile 
Which nothing earthly could despoil. 
Sang on within her soul. 



Oh you, 

Earth's tender and impassioned tow. 
Take courasre to intrust your love 



THE PET-NAME. 39 

To Him so Named, who guards above 

Its ends, and shall fulfil ! 
Breaking the narrow prayers that may 
Befit your narrow hearts, away 

In His broad, loving will. 



THE PET-NAME. 



the name 



Which from theik lips .seemed a earess. 

Miss iMitkokd's Dramatic Scenes. 

I HAVE a name, a little name, 

Uneadenced for the ear, 
I nhononred by aneestral claim, 
Unsanctitied by prayer and psalm 

The solemn font anear. 



It never did, to pages wove 
For gay romance, belong. 
It never dedicate did move 
As " Sacharissa," unto love — 
" Orinda," unto song. 

Though T write books it will be read 
Upon the leaves of none, 



40 vo E U S K C H I 1. D 11 D, 

And afterward, when I am dead, 

Will ne'er be graved tor sight or tread, 

Across my funeral-stone. 

This name, whoever chance t<> rail. 

Perhaps your smile may win. 
Nay, do not smile ! mine eyelids (all 
Over mine eyes, and tool withal 
The sudden tears within. 

Is there a leaf that greenly grows 

Where summer meadows bloom, 
But gathereth the winter snows. 
And changeth to the hue of those, 

If lasting- till they come? 

Is there a word, or jest, or game, 

But time iuerusteth round 
With sad associate thoughts the same." 
And so to me my very name 
Assumes a mournful sound. 

My brother gave that name to mo 

When we were children twain, — 
When names acquired baptismally 
Were hard to utter, as to see 
That life had any pain. 



T J J E PBT-M A M K. 41 

No shade was on us then, save one 

Of chestnuts from the hill — 
And through the word our laugh did run 
As part thereof. The mirth being done, 

He calls me hy it still. 

Nay, do not smile ! I hear in it 

What none of you can hear, — 
The talk upon the willow seat, 
Tlio bird and wind that did repeat 

Around, our human cheer. 

I hear the birthday's noisy bliss, 

My sister's woodland glee, — 
My father's praise, T did not miss, 
When stooping down he cared to kiss 

The poet at his knee, — 



And voice's, which, to name- me, aye 

Their tenderest tones were- keeping 
To some- 1 never more can say 
An answer, till God wipes away 
In heaven these drops of weeping-. 

My name to me a sadness wears, 
No murmurs cross my mind. 



42 



l'O K M 8 O F C H 1 L I» H O O D. 



Now God be thanked for these thick tears, 
Which show, of those departed years, 
Sweet memories left behind. 

Now God be thanked for years inwrought 

With love which softens yet. 
Now God be thanked for every thought 
Which is so tender it has caught 

Earth's guerdon of regret. 

Earth saddens, never shall remove 

Affections purely given ; 
And e'en that mortal grief shall prove 
The immortality oi' love. 

And heighten it with Heaven. 




T II E MOURNING MO T II E U . 



43 




THE MOURNING MOTHER 



(of the dead blind). 

Dost thou weep, mourning mother, 

For thy blind boy in the grave ? 
That no more with each other, 

Sweet counsel ye can have ? — 
That he, left dark by nature, 

Can never more be led 
By thee, maternal creature, 

Along- smooth paths instead ? 
That thou canst no more show him 

The sunshine, by the heat ; 
The river's silver flowing, 

By murmurs at his feet ? 
The foliage, by its coolness ; 

The roses, by their smell ; 
And all creation's fulness, 

By Love's invisible ? 
Weepest thou to behold not 

His meek blind eyes again, — 



44 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Closed doorways which were folded, 

And prayed against in vain — 
And under which, sate smiling 

The child-month evermore, 
As one who watcheth, wiling 

The time by, at a door? 
And weepest thou to feel not 

His clinging hand on thine — 
Which now, at dream-time, will not 

Its eold touch disentwine ? 
And weepest thou still ofter, 

0h T never more to mark 
His low soft words, made softer 

By speaking in the dark ? 
Weep on, thou mourning' mother ! 



But since to him when living- 

Thou wast both sun and moon, 
Look o'er his grave, surviving* 

From a high sphere alone. 
Sustain that exaltation. 

Expand that tender light, 
And hold in mother-passion 

Thy Blessed in thy sight. 
See how he went out straightway 

From the dark world he knew, — 
No twilight in the gateway 



T II E M l; K N J N g Mo T II E K . 1 5 

To mediate 'tvvixt tlie two, — 
Into the sudden glory, 

Out of the dark he trod, 
Departing from before thee 

At once to light and God ! — 
Tor the first face, beholding 

The Christ's in its divine, 
For the first place, the golden 

And tideles.s hyaline ; 
With trees, at lasting summer, 

That rock to songful sound, 
While angels, the new-comer, 

Wrap a still smile around. 
OIi, in the blessed psalm now, 

His happy voice he tries, 
Spreading a thicker palm-bough, 

Than others, o'er his eyes ! 
Yet still, in all the singing, 

Thinks haply of thy song 
Which, in his life's first springing, 

•Sang to him all night long ; 
And wishes it beside him, 

With kissing lips that cool 
And soft did overglide him, 

To make the sweetness full. 
Look up, mourning mother, 

Thy blind boy walks in light ; 
Ye wait for one another, 



46 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Before God's infinite. 
But thou art now the darkest. 

Thou mother left below — 
Thou, the sole blind, — thou markest, 

Content that it be so, — 
Until ye two have meeting 

Where Heaven's pearl-gate is, 
And he shall lead thy feet in, 

As once thou leddest his. 
Wait on, thou mourning' mother. 



RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 

To the belfry, one by one, went the ringers from the sun. 

Toll slowly. 
And the oldest ringer said, " Ours is music for the Dead. 
When the rebecks are all done." 

Six abeles i' the churchyard grow on the northside in a row. 

Toll slowly. 
And the shadows of their tops rock across the little slopes 
Of the grassy graves below. 

On the south side and the west, a small river runs in haste. 
Toll slowly. 



R II Y M E F T II E D U C II E S S M A Y. 47 

And between the river flowing and the fair green trees 
a-growing 

Do the dead lie at their rest. 



On the east I sate that day, up against a willow gray. 

Toll slowly. 
Through the rain of willow-branches, 1 could see the low 
hill ranges, 

And the river on its way. 



There I sate beneath the tree, and the bell tolled solemnly, 

Toll slowly. 
While the trees' and river's voices flowed between the sol- 
emn noises, — 

Yet death seemed more loud to me. 



There, 1 read this ancient rhyme, while the bell did all the 
time 

Toll slowly. 
And the solemn knell fell in with the tale of life and sin, 
Like a rhythmic fate sublime. 

THE RHYME. 

Broad the forests stood (I read) on the hills of Linteged — 
Toll slowly. 



4S POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

And three hundred years had stood mute adown each hoai \ 
wood, 

Like a full heart having prayed. 

And the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west, 

Toll slowly. 
And but little thought was theirs of the silent antique years, 
In the building of their nest. 

Down the sun t dropt large and red, on the towers of 
Linteged, — 

Toll slowly. 
Lance and spear upon the height, bristling strange in fiery 
light, 

While the castle stood in shade. 

There, the castle stood up black, with the red sun at its 
back, — 

Toll slowly. 
Like a sullen smouldering pyre, with a top that flickers fire 
When the wind is on its track. 

And five hundred archers tall did besiege the castle wall, 

Toll slowly. 
And the castle, seethed in blood, fourteen days and nights 
had stood, 

And to-niffht was near its fall. 



RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 49 

Yet thereunto, blind to doom, three months since, a bride 
did come, — 

Toll slowly. 
One who proudly trod the floors, and softly whispered in 

the doors, 

" May good angels bless our home." 



Oh, a bride of queenly eyes, with a front of constancies ! 

Toll slowly. 
01). a bride of cordial mouth, — where the untired smile of 
youth 

Did light outward its own sighs. 



'Twas a Duke's fair orphan-girl, and her uncle's ward, the 
Earl ; 

Toll slowly. 
Who betrothed her twelve years old, for the sake of dowry 
gold, 

To his son Lord Leigh, the churl. 



But what time she had made good all her years of woman- 
hood, 

Toll slowly. 
Unto both those lordh of Leigh, spake she out right sov- 
ranly, 

" My will runneth as my blood. 
3 



50 P O K MS OF CHILDHOOD. 

" And while this same blood makes rod the same right 
hand's veins," she said, — 

Toll slowly. 
" 'Tis my will as lady free, not to wed a lord of Leigh, 
But Sir Guy of Linteged." 

The old Earl he smiled smooth, then he sighed for wilful 
youth, — 

Toll slowly. 
"(rood my niece, that hand withal looketh somewhat soft 
and small 

For so large a will, in sooth." 

She too. smiled by that same sign, — but her smile was cold 
and fine, — 

Toll slowly, 
" Little hand clasps muckle gold, or it were not worth the 
hold 

Of thy soil, good uncle mine !" 

Then the young lord jerked his breath, and sware thickly in 
his teeth, 

Toll slowly. 
" He would wed his own betrothed, an she loved him an she 
loathed, 

Let the life come or the death." 



R II V M E V THE DUCH I. 3 8 MAY. 51 

Up she rose with scornful eyes, as her father's child might 
rise, — 

Toll slowly. 
"Thy hound's blood, my lord of Leigh, stains thy knightly 
heel," quoth she, 

"And he moans not where he lies. 

" Bui a woman's will dies hard, in the hall or on the 
sward !" — 

Toll slowly. 
"By thai grave, my lords, which made me orphaned girl 
and dowered lady, 

J deny you wife and ward." 

Unto each she- bowed her head, and swept past with lofty 
tread. 

Toll slowly. 
Ere the midnighl bell had ceased, in the chapel had the 
priest 

Blessed her, bride of Linteged. 

Fast and fain the bridal train along- the night-storm rode 
amain. 

Toll slowly. 
Hard the steeds of lord and serf struck their hoofs out on 
the turf, 

In the pauses of the rain. 



52 FOEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Fast and fain the kinsmen's train along the storm pursued 
amain — 

Toll slowly. 
Steed on steed-track, dashing off — thickening, doubling, 
hoof on hoof, 

In the pauses of the rain. 



And the bridegroom led the flight on his red-roan steed of 
might, 

Toll sloivly. 
And the bride lay on his arm, still, as if she feared no harm, 
Smiling out into the night. 



Dost thou fear ?" he said at last — " Nay," she answered 
him in haste, — 

Till slowly. 
Not such death as we could find — only life with one 
behind — 

Ride on fast as fear — ride fast !" 



Up the mountain wheeled the steed — girth to ground, and 
fetlocks spread, — 

Toll slowly. 
Headlong bounds and rocking flanks, — down he staggered, 
down the banks, 

To the towers of Lintesred. 



RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 



53 



High and low the serfs looked out, red the flambeaus tossed 
about, — 

Toll slowly. 




In the courtyard rose the cry—" Live the Duchess and Sir 
Guy !" 

But she never heard them shout. 



<~>4 r o E M S V C H 1 LD 11 6 D. 

On the steed she dropl her cheek, kissed Ids mane and 
kissed his neck, — 

Toll do trhi. 
"I had happier died by thee, than lived on a Lady Leigh," 
Were the iirsl words she did speak. 



But a three months' joyaunce lay 'twixt that momenl and 
to-day. 

Toll slowly. 
When five hundred archers tall stand beside the castle 1 
wall, 

To recapture Duchess May. 



And the eastle standeth black, with the red sun at its 
back, — 

Toll .slowly. 
And a fortnight's Biege is done — and, except the duchess, 
none 

Can misdoubt the coming wrack. 



Then the captain, young Lord Leigh, with his eyes so gray 

of bice, 

Toll slowly. 
And thin lips that scarcely sheathe the cold white gnashing 

of his teeth, 

Gnashed in smiling-, absently, 



RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 00 

Cried aloud, "So goes the day, bridegroom fair of Duchess 

May!" 

Toll slowly. 
li Look thy last, upon that sun ! ii' thou seest to-morrow's 
one, 

'Twill be through a fool uf clay. 

" Ha, fair bride ! dost hear no sound, save that moaning of 
the hound I" 

Toll slowly. 
"Thou and I have parted troth,— yet I keep my vengeance- 
oath, 

And the other may come round. 

"Ha! thy will is brave to dare, and thy now love past 
compare," — 

Toll slowly. 
"Yet thine old love's faulchion bravo is as strong a thing- 
to have, 

As the will of lady fair. 

"Pock on blindly, netted dove! — If a wife's name thee 
behove," 

Toll slowly. 
"Thou shalt wear the same to-morrow, ere the grave has 

hid the sorrow 

Of thy last ill-mated love. 



.">(> POEMS OK CHILDHOOD. 

•• O'er his fixed and silent tnouth, thou and I will call back 

troth." 

Toll slowly, 
•• He shall altar be and priest.— and he will not ery at least 
' 1 forbid you— 1 am huh !' 

" 1 will wring- thy fingers pale in the gauntlet el' my mail." 
Toll slowly. 

'• ' Little hand ami muekle gold' elose shall lie within my 
hold.' 

As the sword did. to prevail." 

Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west. 

Toll slowly. 
Oh. and laughed the Duchess May. and her soul did put 
a wax- 
All his boasting tor a jest 

In her chamber did she sit. laughing low to think of it. — 
Toll slowly. 

•'Tower is strong and will is free — thou canst boast, my 
lord o( Leigh, 

Hut thou boastesl little wit." 

In her tire-glass gazed she, and she blushed right womanly. 
Toll slowly. 



RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. DA 

She blushed half from her disdain — half, her beauty was so 
plaiu, 

— "Oath for oath, my lord of Leigh !" 



Straight she called her maidens in — " Since ye gave me 
blame herein," 

Toll slowly. 
" That a bridal such as mine should lack gauds to make it 
line. 

Come and shrive me from that sin. 



Tt is three months gone to-day. since I gave mine hand 
away." 

Toll slowly. 
Bring' the gold and bring the gem, we will keep bride-state 
in them, 

While we keep the foe at bay. 

On your arms I loose mine hair ! — comb it smooth and 
crown it fair.'" 

Toll slowly. 
1 would look in purple pall from the lattice down the wall, 
And throw scorn to one that's there !" 



Oh. the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west. 

Toll slowly. 
3 * 



r B m S V C U i i D ll D, 

On the tower the castled lord loam in silence on his bv 
With an anguish in his breast. 

With a spirit-laden weight, did he loan down passionate. 

s 7;/. 
They have almost sapped the wall, -they will enter there- 
withal, 

With no knocking ai the gate. 

Then the sword lie leant upon, shivered, snapped upon the 
stone, — 

s !>/. 
•• Sword." he thought, with inward laugh, "ill thou Bervest 

for a si all* 

Whon ihv nobler use is done ! 



"Sword, thy nobler use is done ! —tower is lost, and shame 
begun !" — 

slowly, 
■• li" wo met them in the breach, lull to hilt or speech to 
speech, 

Wo should dio there, each For one. 



■• It' wo mot them at the wall, wo should singly, rainly 
tall." 

Toll slowly. 



R ii v \i i. I i ii i. DUCHE i \ V . ■>'■) 

But if / die here alone, then I die, who am but one, 
And <lic nobly for them all. 

Five true friends lie for my sake, in the moat and in * F * * - 
brake/'— 

Toll (slowly. 

Thirteen warriors lie at rest, with a black wound in the 

breast, 

An'l not one of these will wake. 

So no more of this shall be ! beart^blood weighs too 
heavily/' 

Toll slowly. 
And I could not sleep in grave, with ih<: faithful and the 
brave 

Heaped around and over me, 

Since young Clare a mother hath, and young Ralph a 
plighted faith/' 

Toll slowly. 
Since my pale young i i iter's cheeks blush like rose when 
Ronald speaks, 

Albeit never a word she saith — 



Th%se shall never die for me— life-blood falls too heavily 
Toll lowly. 



60 P E M S F C II I L I) II D . 

"And if /die here apart, — o'er my dead and silent heart 
They shall pass out safe and free. 

"When the foe hath heard it said — 'Death holds Guy of 
Linteged/ " 

Toll si owh/. 
"That new corse new peace shall bring', and a blessed 
blessed thing- 
Shall the stone be at its head. 

" Then my friends shall pass out free, and shall bear my 
memory" — 

Toll slowly. 
"Then my foes shall sleek their pride, soothing' fair my 
widowed bride 

Whose sole sin was love of me. 

"With their words all smooth and sweet, they will front her 
and entreat," 

Toll slowly. 
" And their purple pall will spread underneath her fainting 
head 

While her tears drop over it. 



She will weep her woman's tears, she will pray her 
Toll slowly. 



woman's prayers, 



B II V M K P T HE I) l' C II E 3 8 M A V . 61 

" i>ut her heart is young" in pain, and her hopes will spring- 
again 

By the suntime of her years. 

"Ah, sweet May ! ah, sweetest grief! — once I vowed thee 

my belief/' 

Toll slowly. 

" That thy name expressed thy sweetness, — May of poets, 
in completeness ! 

Now my May-day seemeth brief." 

All these silent thoughts did swim o'er his eyes grown 
strange and dim, — 

Toll slowly. 
Till his true men in the place, wished they stood there; face 
to face 

With the foe instead of him. 

" One last oath, my friends that wear faithful hearts to do 

and dare 1" — 

Toll slowly. 

"Tower must fall, and bride be lost! — swear me service 

worth the cost !" 

— Bold they stood around to swear. 

" Each man clasp my hand and swear, l»y the deed we failed 

in there," 

Toll dowly. 



5a ro K m s F CHI1 D u 

••Not for vengeance, not for right, will ye strike one Mow 
to-night !" 

— Pale they stood around to Bwear 

"One last boon, young Ralph and Clare ! faithful hearts to 
do and dare !" — 

sloirlu. 

" Bring thai steed up from lus stall, which Bhe kissed before 
you all ! 

Guide him op the turret-stair, 

•• Ye shall harness him aright, and lead upward to (l»is 

height/' 

. slowly, 

14 Once in love and twice in war, hath he borne me Btrong 

and far, 

\\c shall hoar me far to-night." 

Then his men looked to and fro, when the} heard him Bpeak 

ing s.>. 

Toll slowly. 

•• 'l.as ! the noble heart,* they thought,—" ho in sooth is 

grief distraught. 

Would we stood here with the foe !" 

Bui a t"nv flashed from his eye, 'twixl their thought and their 

reply, — 

' slowlv. 



]', ii Y M h o » THE DUCH K 8 ri M A Y 



r,:; 



Have ye so much time to waste? We who ride here, 
must ride fast, 

Ah wc wi.-.li our foefl to fly." 

They have fetched the steed with care, in the harness be 

did wear, 

Toll slowly. 
Pa t the court, and through the dooi the rushes of 

the floors, 

But they goad him up the stair 

Then from out her bowet chambere, did the Duchess May 

i epa ir 

Toll slowly. 

"Tell me now what is your need f n said the lady, "of this 

i teed, 

That ye goad him up the stair." 

Calm she stood ; nnbodkined through, fell her dark hair to 
her .-.hoc, — 

7'o/J, slowly, 
\)k\ the smile upon her face, ere she left the tiring-glass, 
Had not i ime enough to u f <>- 



( "t thee back, sweet Duchess May! hope is gone likr 
yesterday," — 

Toll tlowly. 



64 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

11 One half hour completes the breach ; and thy lord grows 
wild of speech ! 

Get thee in, sweet lady, and pray. 

" In the east tower, high's t of all, loud he cries for steed 
from stall." 

Toll slowly. 
" He would ride as far," quoth he, " as for love and victory. 
Though he rides the castle-wall." 

" And we fetched the steed from stall, up where never a hoof 
did fall."— 

Toll slowly. 
" Wifely prayer meets deathly need ! may the sweet Heav- 
ens hear thee plead 

If he rides the castle-wall." 

Low she dropt her head, and lower, till her hair coiled on 
the floor, — ' 

Toll slowly. 
And tear after tear you heard fall distinct as any word 
Which 3 t ou might be listening for. 

" Get thee in, thou soft ladye ! — here, is never a place for 
thee !" 

Toll slowly. 



RHYME OF THE DUCHESS M A Y . 65 

'• Braid thine hair and clasp thy gown, that thy beauty in 
its moan 

May find grace with Leigh of Leigh.'' 

She stood up in bitter case, with a pale yet steady face, 

Toll slowly. 
Like a statue thunderstruck, which, though quivering, 
seems to look 

Right against the thunder place. 

And her foot trod in, with pride, her own tears i' the stone 
beside. — 

Toll slowly. 
" Go to, faithful friends, go to ! — -judge no more what ladies 
do- 

No, nor how their lords may ride !" 

Then the good steed's rein she took, and his neck did kiss 
and stroke : 

Toll slowly. 
Soft he neighed to answer her, and then followed up the 
stair, 

For the love of her sweet look. 

Oh, and steeply, steeply wound up the narrow stair around ! 
Toll slowly. 



60 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Oh, and closely, closely speeding, step by step beside her 
treading-, 

Did lie follow, meek as hound. 

On the east tower, highest of all, — there where never a hoof 
did fall,— 

Toll slowly. 
Out they swept a vision steady, — noble steed and lovely 
lady, 

Calm as if in bower or stall. 

Down she knelt at her lord's knee, and she looked up 
silently, — 

Toll slowly. 
And he kissed her twice and thrice, for that look within her 
eyes, 

Which he could not bear to see. 

« 
Quoth he, " Get thee from this strife, — and the sweet saints 
bless thy life !"— 

Toll slowly. 
" In this hour, I stand in need of my noble red-roan steed, 
But no more of my noble wife." 



Quoth she, " Meekly have I done all thy biddings under 
Toll slowly. 



sun ;" 



RHY M E OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 67 

11 But by all my womanhood, which is proved so, true and 
good, 

I will never do this one. 



" Now by womanhood's degree, and by wifehood's verity," 

Toll slowly. , 
" In this hour if thou hast need of thy noble red-roan steed, 
Thou hast also need of me. 



" By this golden ring ye see on this lifted hand pardie," 

Toll slowly. 
" If, this hour, on castle-wall, can be room for steed from 
stall, 

Shall be also room for me. 



" So the sweet saints with me be," (did she utter solemnly) 

Toll slowly. 
" If a man, this eventide, on this castle wall will ride, 
He shall ride the same with me." 



Oh, he sprang up in the selle, and he laughed out bitter- 
well, 

Toll slowly. 
" Wouldst thou ride among the leaves, as we used on other 
eves, 

To hear chime a vesper-bell ?" 



(iS POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

She clang- closer to his knee— "Ay, beneath the cypress- 
tree !" — 

Toll slowly. 

" Mock me not, for otherwhere than along* the greenwood 
fair. 

Have I ridden fast with thee. 



"Fast I rode with new-made vows, from my angry kins- 
man's house. "' 

Toll slowly. 
" What, and would yon men should reck that I dared more 
for love's sake 

As a bride than as a spouse '! 

" What, and would you it should fall, as a proverb, before 

all." 

Toll slow I ft. 
" That a bride may keep your side while through castle- 
gate you ride. 

Yet eschew the castle-wall ?" 



Ho ! the breach yawns into ruin, and roars up against her 
suing. 

Toll slowly. 
With the inarticulate din, and the dreadful falling- in — 
Shrieks of doing and undoing ! 



RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 69 

Twice he wrung- her hands in twain, but the small hands 
closed again. 

Toll do ii'hi. 
Hack he reined the steed — back, back ! but she trailed 
along' his track 

With a frantic clasp and strain. 



Evermore the foeinen pour through the crash of window and 
door, — 

Toll slowly. 
And the shouts of Leigh and Leigh, and the shrieks of 
"kill !" and "flee!" 

Strike up clear amid the roar. 

Thrice he wrung her hands in twain — but they closed and 
clung again, — 

Toll slowly. 
Wild she clung, as one, withstood, clasps a Christ upon the 
rood, 

In a spasm of deathly pain. 

She clung wild and she clung mute, with her shuddering 
lips half shut. 

Toll slowly. 
Her head fallen as half in s wound, — hair and knee swept 
on the ground, 

She clung wild to stirrup and foot. 



70 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Back he reined his steed back-thrown on the slippery 
coping-stone. 

Toll slowly. 
Back the iron hoofs did grind on the battlement behind 
Whence a hundred feet went down. 



And his heel did press and goad on the quivering flank 
bestrode, — 

Toll slowly. 
" Friends, and brothers, save my wife ! — Pardon, sweet, in 
change for life, — 

But I ride alone to God." 



Straight as if the Holy name had upbreathed her like a 
flame, 

Toll slowly. 
She upsprang, she rose upright, — in his selle she sate in 
sight, 

By her love she overcame. 



And her head was on his breast, where she smiled as one 
at rest, — 

Toll slowly. 
" Ring," she cried, " vesper-bell, in the beech-wood's old 
chapelle ! 

But the passing-bell rings best." 



RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 71 

They have caught out at the rein, which Sir Guy threw 
loose — in vain, — 

Toll slowly. 
For the horse in stark despair, with his front hoofs poised 
in air, 

On the last verge rears amain. 



Now he hangs, he rocks between, and his nostrils curdle 
in!— 

Toll slowly. 
Now he shivers head and hoof — and the flakes of foam fall 
off, 

And his face grows fierce and thin ! 



And a look of human woe from his staring eyes did go, 

Toll slowly. 
And a sharp cry uttered he, in a foretold agony 
Of the headlong death below, — 



And, " Ring, ring, thou passing-bell," still she cried, " i' the 
old chapelle !" — 

Toll slowly. 
Then back-toppling, crashing back — a dead weight flung 
out to wrack, 

Horse and riders overfell. 



P O K M S () F CHILDHOOD, 



Oli, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang 
west, 

Toll slow!//. 
And I read this ancient Rhyme, in the churchyard, while 
the chime 

Slowly tolled for one at rest. 



The abeles moved in the sun, and the river smooth did 
run, 

Toll slowly. 
And the ancient Rhyme rang- strange, with its passion and 
its change, 

Here, where all done lav undone. 



And beneath a willow-tree, I a little grave did see, 

Toll slowly. 
Where was graved, — Here undefiled, lieth Maud, a three- 
year child, 

Eighteen hundred, forty-three. 

Then, spirits, did I say, ye who rode so fast that day, — 

Toll slowly. 
Did star-wheels and angel wings, with their holy win- 
no wings. 

Keep beside you all the way? 



R II Y M E F THE D D C HESS HAY, 73 

Though in passion yo would dash, with a blind, and heavy 
crash, 

Toll slowly. 
Up against the thick-bossed shield of God's judgment in the 
field- 
Though your heart and brain were rash, — 



Now, your will is all unwilled — now, your pulses are all 
stilled ! 

Toll slowly. 
Now, ye lie as meek and mild (whereso laid) as Maud the 
child, 

Whose small grave was lately filled. 



Beating heart and burning brow, ye are very patient now, 

Toll slowly. 
And the children might be bold to pluck the king-cups from 
your mould 

Ere a month had let them grow. 



And you let the goldfinch sing in the alder near in 
spring, 

Toll slowly. 
Let her build her nest and sit all the three weeks out 
on it, 

Murmuring not at any thing. 
4 



74 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD 



In your patience ye are strong ; cold and heat ye take not 
wrong : 

Toll slowly. 
When the trumpet of the angel blows eternity's evangel, 
Time will seem to you not long. 

Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang 
west, 

Toll slowly. 
And I said in underbreath, — All our life is mixed with 
death, 

And who knoweth which is best ? 



Oli, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang 
west, 

Toll slowly. 
And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our 
incompleteness, — 

Round our restlessness, His rest. 




A CHILD'S grave 



75 




A CHILD'S GRAVE AT FLORENCE. 

A. A. B.C. 

Born, July, 184S. Died, November, 1849. 

Of English blood, of Tuscan birth, 
What country should we give her ? 

Instead of any on the earth, 
The civic Heavens receive her. 



And here, among the English tombs, 
In Tuscan ground we lay her, 

While the blue Tuscan sky endomes 
Our English words of prayer. 

A little child ! — how long she lived, 
By months, not years, is reckoned 

Born in one July, she survived 
Alone to see a second. 



Bright featured, as the July sun 
Her little face still played in, 



16 POEMS K C U 1 l. D H D, 

Ami splendours, with her birth begun, 
Had had no time for fading*. 

So, Lily, from those July hours. 

No wonder we should call her ; 
She looked such kinship to the flowers, 

Was but a little taller. 

A Tuscan Lily, — only white, 

As Dante, in abhorrence 
Of red corruption, wished aright 

The lilies of his Florence. 

We could not wish her whiter, — her 

Who perfumed with pure blossom 

The house ! — a lovely thing to wear 

Upon a mother's bosom ! 

This July creature thought perhaps 

Our speech not worth assuming ; 

She sate upon her parents' laps. 

Ami mimicked the gnat's humming : 

Said "father," "mother," — then, left oil 
For tongues celestial, fitter. 

Her hair had grown just long enough 
To catch heaven's jasper-glitter. 



A CHI LD' I fl '• 

Babes ! Love could always bear and 
Behind the cloud that bid them. 

" Let little children coine to me, 
And do not thou forbid them." 

So, unforbidding, have we met, 
And gently here have laid her, 

Though winter is no time to get 
The flowers that should o'erspread her. 

We should bring pansies quick with sprinj 

Rose, violet, daffodilly, 
And also, above every thing, 

White lilies for our Lily. 

Nay, more than flowers, this grave exacts, 

Glad, grateful attestations 
Of her sweet eyes and pretty acts, 

With calm renunciations. 

Her very mother with light feet 
Should leave the place too earthy, 

Saying, "The angels have thee, Sweet, 
Because we are not worthy." 

But winter kills the orange buds, 
The gardens in the frost are, 



U 



78 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

And all the heart dissolves in floods, 
Remembering we have lost her ! 

Poor earth, poor heart, — too weak, too weak 

To miss the July shining ! 
Poor heart ! — what bitter words we speak, 

When God speaks of resigning- ! 

Sustain this heart in us that faints, 

Thou God, the self-existent ! 
We catch up wild at parting saints, 

And feel thy Heaven too distant. 

The wind that swept them out of sin, 

Has ruffled all our vesture. 
On the shut door that let them in, 
We beat with frantic gesture, — 

To us, us also — open straight ! 

The outer life is chilly — 
Are ive too, like the earth, to wait 

Till next year for our Lily ? 

— Oh, my own baby on my knees, 
My leaping, dimpled treasure, 

At every word I write like these, 

Clasped close, with stronger pressure ! 



a child's grave. 79 

Too well my own heart understands, — 

At every word beats fuller — 
My little feet, my little hands, 

And hair of Lily's colour ! 

—But God gives patience, Love learns strength, 

And Faith remembers promise, 
And Hope itself can smile at length 

On other hopes gone from us. 

Love, strong as Death, shall conquer Death, 
Through struggle, made more glorious. 

This mother stills her sobbing breath, 
Renouncing, yet victorious. 

Arms, empty of her child, she lifts, 

With spirit unbereaven, — 
" God will not take back all His gifts ; 

My Lily's mine in heaven ! 

"Still mine J maternal rights serene 

Not given to another ! 
The crystal bars shine faint between 

The souls of child and mother. 

" Meanwhile," the mother cries, " content ! 
Our love was well divided. 



80 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Its sweetness following- where she went, 
Its anguish stayed where I did. 

'•' Well done of God, to halve the lot, 
And give her all the sweetness ; 

To us, the empty room and cot, — 
To her, the Heaven's completeness. 

" To us, this grave — to her, the rows 
The mystic palm-trees spring in. 

To us, the silenee in the house, — 
To her, the choral singing. 

" For her, to gladden in God's view,— 
For us, to hope and bear on ! — 

Grow, Lily, in thy garden new, 
Beside the rose of Sharon. 

" Grow fast in heaven, sweet Lily clipped, 
In love more calm than this is, — 

And may the angels dewy-lipped 
Remind thee of our kisses ! 

" While none shall tell thee of our tears, 
These human tears now falling, 

Till, after a few patient years, 
One home shall take us all in. 



N L V A C I' R L, 



SI 



"Child, father, mother — who, left mil ? 

Not mother, and not father ! — 
And when, our dying couch about, 

The natural mists shall gather, 



" Some smiling angel close shall stand 

In old Correggio's fashion, 
And hear a Lily in his hand, 

For death's annunciation." 



ONLY A CURL. 

Friends effaces unknown and a land 

Lnvisited over the sea, 
Who tell me how lonely you stand, 
With a single gold curl in the hand 

Held up to be looked at by me ! — 



While you ask me to ponder and say 

What a father and mother ean do, 

With the bright yellow locks put away 

Out of reach, beyond kiss, in the clay, 

Where the violets press nearer than you 
4* 



82 P B M S K CHI I D H D. 

Shall 1 speak like a poet, or run 

huo weak woman's tears for relief? 
Oh, children ! 1 never lost one. 

But my arm's round my own little son. 
And Love knows the Becret of Grief. 

And 1 feel what it must be and is 
When God draws a now angel so 

Through the house of a man up to His. 

With a murmur of music you miss. 
And a rapture o( light you forego. 

How you think, staring on at the door 

Where the face of your angel Bashed in, 
That its brightness, familiar before, 
Burns off from you ever the more 

For the dark o( vour sorrow and sin. 



" God lout him and takes him." you sigh . . 

— Nay. there lot mo break with your pain ; 
God's generous in giving, say 1, 
And the thing which he gives, 1 deny 

That lie ever can take back again. 



lie gives what he gives. 1 appeal 

To all who bear babes ! In the hour 



n I. y a C U R L. 88 

When the vail of the hody wc feel 
Rent round us, while torments reveal 
The motherhoods advent in power, 

And the babe cries, — have all of us known 

V>y apocalypse (God being there, 
Pull in nature I) the child is our own, — 
Life of life, love of love, moan of moan, 

Through all changes, all times, everywhere. 

He's ours, and for ever. Believe, 

father ! mother, look back 
To the first love's assurance ! To give 
Means, with God, not to tempt or deceive 

Willi a cup thrust in Benjamin's sack. 

He gives what he gives : be content. 

He resumes nothing given, -be sine. 
God lend ? -where the usurers lent 
In His temple, indignant he went 

And scourged away all those impure. 

He lends riot, but gives to the end, 

As He loves to the end. If it seem 
That He draws back a gift, comprehend 

'Tis to add to it rather- . . amend, 

And finish it up to your dream, — 



84 



POEMS OF i' 1111. P HOOD. 



Or keep . . as a mother may toys 
Too costly, though given by herself, 

Till the room shall be stiller from noise, 
And the children more tit for such joys, 

Kept over their heads on the shelf. 



So look up, friends ! You who indeed 

Have possessed in your house a sweet piece 
Of the Heaven which men strive 1 for, must need 
Be more earnest than others are, speed 

Where they loiter, persist where they eease. 



Yon know how one angel smiles there. 

Then, courage ! Tis easy for yon 
To be drawn by a single gold hair 
Of that curl, from earth's storm and despair 

To the safe place above us. Adieu ! 




K M A N C E 01 THE - W A N ' « N E 8 '1 . 



85 



THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEgT 

Little Ellie Bits alone 
'Mid the beeches of a meadow, 
\\y a stream-side on the grass, 







ffi f WlV' 









And the trees .arc showering down 
Doubles of their leaves in shadow, 
On her shining 1 hair and face. 



86 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

She has thrown her bonnet b}-, 
And her feet she has been dipping 

In the shallow water's How. 

Now she holds them nakedly 
In her hands, all sleek and dripping, 

While she rocketh to and fro. 

Little Ellic sits alone, 
And the smile she softly uses, 

Fills the silence like a speech, 

While she thinks what shall be done, — 
And the sweetest pleasure chooses 

For her future within reach. 

Little Ellic in her smile 
Chooses ..." I will have a lover, 

Riding* on a steed of steeds ! 

He shall love me without guile. 
And to him I will discover 

The swan's nest among* the reeds. 

"And the steed shall be red-roan, 
And the lover shall be noble, 

With an eye that takes the breath. 

And the lute he plays upon, 
Shall strike ladies into trouble, 

As his sword strikes men to death. 



ROMA N C E I T HE S W A N ' S N E ST. 87 

" And the steed it Bhall be shod 
All in silver, housed in azure, 

And the mane shall swim the wind ; 

And the hoofs along the sod 
Shall flush onward and keep measure, 

Till the shepherds look behind. 

"But my lover will not prize 
All the glory that he rides in, 

When he gazes in my face. 

He will say, ' Love, thine eyes 
Build the shrine my soul abides in, 

And I kneel here for thy grace.' 

"Then, ay, then— he shall kneel low, 
With the red-roan steed anear him 

Which shall seem to understand — 

Till 1 answer, ' Rise and go ! 
For the world must love and fear him 

Whom I gift with heart and hand.' 

" Then he will arise so pale, 
I shall feel my own lips tremble 

With a 7/^.s I must not say, 

Nathless maiden-brave, 'Farewell,' 
1 will utter, and dissemble — 

' Light to-morrow with to-day.' 



P K M s K C H 1 1 D H Q, 

"Then he'll ride among the hills 

To the wide world past the river. 

There to put away all wrong ; 
To make straight distorted wills. 
And to empty the broad quiver 
Which the wicked bear along. 

"Three times shall a young foot-page 

Swim the stream and climb the mountain 
And kneel down beside my toot — 
■ Lo, my master sends this gage, 

Lady, for thy pity's counting ! 
What wilt thou exchange for it V 

" And the first tinu\ 1 will send 
A white 4 rosebud for a guerdon, — 

And the second time a glove : 

Hut the third time — 1 may bond 
from my pride, and answer—' Pardon, 

If ho comes to take mv love.' 



"Then the young foot-page will run- 
Then my lover will rido faster, 
Till he kneeleth at my knee : 

' 1 am a duke's oldest son ! 
Thousand serfs do call mo master,— 
Hut, Love, I love but thee." 



R o M A N i: E v T II i. B 19 a H 



S«J 



' He will kiss me "'i the mouth * 

Then, and lead me as a lover 

Through the crowds thai praise his deeds : 




And, when soul-tied by one troth 
Unto him I will discover 
That swan's nesl among the reeds." 



90 



m s o k rim i» u o o .' 



i Little EUie, with her smile 

Not yet ended, rose up gaily, 
Tied the bonnet, dunned the shoe, 
Ami went homeward, round a mile, 

Just to see, as she did daily, 

What more eggs were with the two 

Pushing through the elm-tree copse, 
Winding up the stream, light-hearted, 

Where the osier pathway leads — 

Past the boughs she stoops— ami stops. 
Lo, the wild swan had deserted — 

And a rat had gnawed the reeds, 

Ellic went home sad and slow. 
If she found the lover ever, 

With his red-roan stood of steeds, 

Sooth 1 know- not ! but 1 know 
She could ne\ er show him never 

That swan's nest anions the reeds ! 




'1 if I. I '/ ' RKO i. fi 



III 



r " " " " jj^rr ;i jt 

*T ........«..^,.1«.1WJ 




'i in. KOURFOLIJ AKPEi 'i 



Win i up in lie- I-' 

Wjtli youi little <:lnl<i 
And, in touchi L 

toacli ''I Love did uic< 
eein i n j 

And, <<f ;«ll I' 1 

anding farthei "< ; i" the dooi ! 
\'.,t. :i i,;. Hi': being dear to thought, 

With h- ownci I 'II ; 

\<,i . it brought 

'" ; 
When tin ded chaiij 

Wan of apple <Jr<;|/t from bung 
When It- i en»ed moi 

•• — 
tin L ,J p 

ft, upon their eldei 
Tcllii tatue* dr< 

Underneath tlie churchyard tr< 



■ ).> 



PO E M S F C 11 1 I. I» H D. 

Ami how ye must lie beneath them 

Through the winters long and deep, 
Till the last trump overbreathe them, 
Ami ye smile ou1 of your sleep . . . 
Oh, ye lifted up your head, ami it seemed as if they 

said 

A tale of fairy ships 

With a swan-wing for a sail ! — 
Oh, ye kissed their loving lips 
m For the merry, merry tale ! — 
So carelessly ye thought upon the Dead. 



Soon ye read in solemn stories 

Of the men oi' long ago — 
Of the pale bewildering glories 

Shining farther than we know, 
Oi' the heroes with the laurel, 

Of the poets with the bay, 
Of the two worlds' earnest quarrel 

For that beauteous Helena. 

How Achilles at the portal 
Oi' the tent, heard footsteps nigh, 

And his strong he;irt. half-immortal, 
Met the keitai with a cry. 

How Ulysses left the sunlight 
For the pale eidola race 

Blank and passive through the dun light, 



I II i. I i R I I- i» A P i. C i . 



1)3 



Staring blindly in hi face. 
How that true wile said to Poet us, 
Willi calm smile and wounded heart, 




"Sweet, it hurts not !"' how Admetus 

Saw his blessed one depart. 
How Kin^; Arthur proved his mission, 



04 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

And Sir Ronald wound his horn, 
And at SangreaPs moony vision 
Swords did bristle round like corn. 
Oh, ye lifted up your head, and it seemed the while 
ye read, 

That this Death, then, must be found 
A Valhalla for the crowned, 
The heroic who prevail. 
None, be sure, can enter in 
Far below a paladin 
Of a noble, noble tale ! 
So awfully ye thought upon the Dead. 



Ay, but soon ye woke up shrieking-, — 

As a child that wakes at night 
From a dream of sisters speaking 

In a garden's summer-light, — 
That wakes, starting up and bounding, 

In a lonely, lonely bed, 
With a wall of darkness round him. 

Stifling black about his head ! — 
And the full sense of your mortal 

Rushed upon you deep and loud, 
And ye heard the thunder hurtle 

From the silence of the cloud ! 
Funeral-torches at your gateway 

Threw a dreadful light within. 



THE FOURFOLD ASPECT. 95 

All thing's changed ! you rose up straightway 

And saluted Death and Sin. 
Since, — your outward man has rallied, 

And your eye and voice grown bold — 
Yet the Sphinx of Life stands pallid, 

With her saddest secret told, 
Happy places have grown holy. 

If ye went where once ye went, 
Only tears would fall down slowly, 

As at solemn sacrament. 
Merry books, once read for pastime, 

If ye dared to read again, 
Only memories of the last time 

Would swim darkly up the brain. 
Household names, which used to flutter 

Through your laughter unawares, 
God's divinest ye could utter 

With less trembling in your prayers ! 
Ye have dropt adown your head, and it seems as 
if ye tread 

On your own hearts in the path 

Ye are called to in His wrath, — 

And your prayers go up in wail ! 

— " Dost Thou see, then, all our loss, 

Thou agonized on cross ? 

Art thou reading all its tale ?" 
So mournfully } r e think upon the Dead. 



9G POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Tray, pray, thou who also weepest, 

And the drops will slacken so. 
Weep, weep,— and the watch thou keepest, 

With a quicker count will go. 
Think, — the shadow on the dial 

For the nature most undone, 
Marks the passing of the trial, 

Proves the presence of the sun. 
Look, look up, in stany passion, 

To the throne above the spheres ! 
Learn, — the spirit's gravitation 

Still must differ from the tear's. 
Hope, — with all the strength thou usest 

In embracing thy despair. 
Love, — the earthly love thou losest 

Shall return to thee more fair. 
Work, — make clear the forest-tangles 

Of the wildest stranger-land. 
Trust, — the blessed deathly angels 

Whisper, "Sabbath hours at hand !" 
By the heart's wound when most gory, 

By the longest agony, 
Smile ! — Behold, in sudden glory 

The Transfigured smiles on thee! 
And ye lifted up your head, and it seemed as if He 
said. 

" My Beloved, is it so ? 






VIRGIN M A K Y T T HE CHILI) J iS S U S . 97 

Have ye tasted of my woe ? 
Of my Heaven ye shall not fail !" — 
He stands brightly where the shade is, 
With the keys of Death and Hades, 
And there ends the mournful tale. — 
So hopefully ye think upon the Dead. 



THE VIRGIN MARY TO THE CHILD JESUS. 

But see, the Virgin blest 
Hath laid her babe to rest. 

Milton's Hymn on the Nativity. 

Sleep, sleep, mine Holy One ! 
My flesh, my Lord !— what name ? I do not know 
A name that seemeth not too high or low, 

Too far from me or heaven. 
My Jesus, that is best ! that word being given 
By the majestic angel whose command 
Was softly as a man's beseeching said, 
When I and all the earth appeared to stand 

In the great overflow 
Of light celestial from his wings and head. 

Sleep, sleep, my saving One ! 

And art thou come for saving, baby-browed 
And speechless Being — art thou come for saving ? 
5 



C)g POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Wtf palm that grows beside our door is bowed 
j$ y treadings of the low wind from the south, 
A restless shadow through the chamber waving : 
Upon its bough a bird sings in the sun ; 
But Thou, with that close slumber on thy mouth, 
Dost seem of wind and sun already weary. 
Art come for saving, my weary One? 

Perchance this sleep that shutteth out the dreary 
Earth-sounds and motions, opens on Thy soul 

High dreams on fire with God ; 
High songs that make the pathways where they roll 
More bright than stars do theirs ; and visions new 
Of Thine eternal Nature's old abode. 

Suffer this mother's kiss, 

Best thing that earthly is, 
To glide the music and the glory through, 
Nor narrow in thy dream the broad upliftings 

Of any seraph wing. 
Thus noiseless, thus. Sleep, sleep, my dreaming One 

The slumber of His lips meseems to run 

Through my lips to mine heart, — to all its shiftings 

Of sensual life, bringing contrariousness 

In a great calm. I feel, I could lie down 

As Moses did, and die,* — and then live most. 

* It is a Jewish tradition that Moses died of the kisses of God's lips. 



V I R G I X MARY TO T H E CHILI) J K S U S . 99 

I am 'ware of you, heavenly Presences, 

That stand with your peculiar light unlost, 

Each forehead with a high thought for a crown, 

Unsunned i' the sunshine ! I am 'ware. Ye throw 

No shade against the wall ! How motionless 

Ye round me with your living statuary, 

While through your whiteness, in and outwardly, 

Continual thoughts of God appear to go, 

Like light's soul in itself. I bear, I bear, 

To look upon the dropt lids of your eyes, 

Though their external shining testifies 

To that beatitude within, which were 

Enough to blast an eagle at his sun. 

I fall not on my sad clay face before ye, — 

I look on His. I know 
My spirit which dilateth with the woe 

Of His mortality, 

May well contain your glory. 

Yea, drop your lids more low. 
Ye are but fellow-worshippers with me ! 

Sleep, sleep, my worshipped One ! 



We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem. 

The dumb kine from their fodder turning them, 

Softened their horned faces 

To almost human gazes 

Toward the newly Born. 



. 



100 P S M S O F C II I I. I' II !». 

The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks 

Brought visionary looks, 
As yel iii their astonied hearing rung 

The strange, sweet angel-tongue. 
The magi of the East, in sandals worn, 

Knell reverent, sweeping round, 
With long pale beards, their gifts upon the ground, 

The incense, myrrh and gold 
These baby hands were impotent to hold. 
So, lot all earthlies and celestials wait 

Upon thy royal state. 

Sleep, sleep, my kingly One ! 



I am not proud — meek angels, ye invest 
New meeknesses to hear such utterance rest 
On mortal lips, — "I am not proud" — not proud! 
Albeit in my flesh God sent his Son, 
Albeit over Him my head is bowed 
As others bow before Him, still mine heart 
Hows lower than their knees. centuries 
That roll, in vision, your futurities 

My future grave athwart, — 
Whose murmurs seem to reach me while 1 keep 

Watch o'er this sleep, — 
Say of me as the Heavenly said — "Thou art 
The blessodost of women !" blossodost. 
Not holiest, not noblest — no high name, 



V I R G I N M A R Y T THE CHI L I) J E 31 101 

Whoso height misplaced may pierce me like a shame, 
When I sit meek in heaven ! 

For me, lor me, 
God knows that I am feeble like the rest — 
I often wandered forth, mere child than maiden, 
Among the midnight hills of Galilee 

Whose summits looked heaven-laden, 
Listening to silence as it seemed to he 
God's voice, so soft yet strong— so fain to press 
Upon my heart as Heaven did on the height, 
And waken up its shadows by a light, 
And show its vileness by a holiness. 
Then I knelt down most silent like the uight, 

Too self-renounced for fears, 
Raising my small face to the boundless blue 
Whose stars did mix and tremble in my tears. 
God heard them falling after— with his dew. 



So, seeing my corruption, can I see 

This Incorruptible now born of me, 

This fair new Innocence no sun did chance 

To shine on, (for even Adam was no child) 

Created from my nature all defiled, 

This mystery, from out mine ignorance, — 

Nor feel the blindness, stain, corruption, more 

Than others do, or /did heretofore?— 

Can hands wherein such burden pure has been, 



102 PO E M s V C II I I- I) H O I). 

Not open with the cry " unclean, unclean," 
More oft than any else beneath the skies'.' 

Ah King, ah Christ, ah son ! 
The kine, the shepherds, the abased wise 
Must all less lowly wait 
Than I, upon thy state. — 
Sleep, sleep, my kingly One ! 



Art Thou a King, then ? Come, his universe, 

Come, crown me Him a King ! 
Thick rays from all such stars as never fling 

Their light where fell a curse, 
And make a crowning for this kingly brow !- 
What is ray word ? — Each empyreal star 

Sits in a. sphere afar 

In shining ambuscade. 

The child-brow, crowned by none, 

Keeps its unchildlike shade. 

Sleep, sleep, my crownless One ! 



Unchildlike shade ! — No other babe doth wear 

An aspect very sorrowful, as thou. — 

No small babe-smiles, my watching heart has seen, 

To float like speech the soeechless lips between. 

No dovelike cooing in the golden air, 

No quick short joys of leaping babyhood. 



VIRGIN MAIM' TO THE CHILD J i; SI'S. I0o 

Alas, our earthly good 
In heaven thought evil, seems too good for Th 
V<t sleep, my weary One I 



And then the drear sharp tongue of prophecy, 
Wild the dread sense of things which shall be done, 
Doth smite me inly, like a sword ! a sword ? — 
{Thai "smites the Shepherd.") Then, I think aloud. 
The words " despised," "rejected," every word 
Recoiling into darkness as I view 

The Darling on my knee. 
Bright angels, — move not ! — lest ye stir the cloud 
Betwixt my soul and 9is futurity ! 
I must not die, with mother's work to do, 

A nd could not live .mi.! see. 



It. is enough to bear 

This image still and fair — 

This holier in sleep, 

Than a saint at prayer : 

This aspect of a child 

Who never sinned or smiled ; 

This Presence in an infant's face ; 

This sadness most iik<- love, 

This love than love more deep, 

This weakness like omnipotence, 



104 P O E M S F C H I L D II D. 

It is so strong to move. 
Awful is this watching place, 
Awful what I see from hence — 
A king, without regalia, 
A God, without the thunder, 
A child, without the heart for play ; 
Ay, a Creator, rent asunder 
From his first glory and cast away 
On His own world, for me alone 
. To hold in hands created, crying — Sox ! 



That tear fell not on thee, 
Beloved, yet thou stirrest in thy slumber ! 
Thou, stirring not for glad sounds out of number 
Which through the vibratory palm-trees run 

From summer wind and bird, 

So quickly hast thou heard 

A tear fall silently ? — 

Wak'st thou, loving One ? — 




THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN 



105 




THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN. 

" <i>tu, <t>cv, ti TrpaoSepKtvde p' Ofifiaaiv. racva. 

Medea. 

Do ye hear the children weeping', my brothers, 

Ere the sorrow comes with years ? 
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, 

And that cannot stop their tears. 
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, 

The young birds are chirping in the nest, 
The young fawns are playing Avith the shadows, 

The young flowers are blowing toward the west — 
But the young, young children, my brothers, 

They are weeping bitterly ! 
They are weeping in the playtime of the others, 

In the country of the free. 



Do you question the young children in the sorrow, 
Why their tears are falling so? 

The old man may weep for his to-morrow 
Which is lost in Long Ago. 
5* 



106 PO E M S V C II l L D H D . 

The old tree is leafless in the forest, 

The old year is ending in the frost, 
The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest, 

The old hope is hardest to be lost 
But the young', young children, my brothers, 

Do you ask them why they stand 
Weeping- sore before the bosoms of their mothers, 
In our happy Fatherland): 



They look up with their pale and sunken faces, 

And their looks are sad to see, 
For the man's hoary anguish draws and presses 

Down the cheeks of infancy. 
"Your old earth," they say, "is very dreary ; 

Our young feet," they say, "are very weak ! 
Vow paces have wo taken, yet are weary — 

Our grave-rest is very far to seek. 
Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children ; 

For the outside earth is eold ; 
And we young* ones stand without, in our bewildering, 

And the graves are for the old. 



•• True," say the children, " it may happen 

That we die before our time. 
Little Alice died last year — her grave is shapen 

Like a snowball, in the rime. 



T II E C K Y F T II E CHILI) R E X . 107 

We looked into the pit prepared to take her. 

Was no room for any work in the close clay ! 
From the sleep wherein she lieth, none will wake her, 

Crying, 'Get up, little' Alice ! it is day.' 
If yon listen by that grave, in sun and shower, 

With your ear down, little Alice never cries. 
Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her, 

For the smile has time for growing in her eyes. 
And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in 

The shroud by the kirk-chime ! 
It is good when it happens," say the children, 
"That we die before our time." 

Alas, alas, the children ! they are seeking- 

Death in life, as best to have. 
They are binding up their hearts away from breaking, 

With a cerement from the grave. 
Go out, children, from the mine and from the city, 

Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do. 
Pluck your handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty, 

Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through ! 
But they answer, "An; your cowslips of the meadows 

Like our weeds anear the mine ? 
Lea^e us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows 

From your pleasures fair and fine ! 

" For oh," say the children, " we are weary, 
And we cannot run or leap. 



08 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

If wo cared for any meadows, it were merely 

To drop down in them and sleep. 
Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping, 

We fall upon our faces, trying" to go ; 
And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping, 

The reddest flower would look as pale as snow. 
For, all day, we drag our burden tiring 

Through the coal-dark, underground — 
Or, all day we drive the wheels of iron 
In the factories, round and round. 

"For, all day, the wheels are droning, turning, — 

Their wind comes in our faces, — 
'Till our hearts turn, — our head, with pulses burning, 

And the walls turn in their places. 
Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling, 

Turns the long light that drops adown the wall, 
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling, 

All are turning, all the day, and we with all. 
And all day, the iron wheels are droning, 

And sometimes we could pray, 
' ye wheels/ (breaking out in a mad moaning) 

' Stop ! be silent for to-day ! ' " 

Aye ! be silent ! Let them hear each other breathing 

For a moment, mouth to mouth ! 
Let them touch each other's hands in a fresh wreathing 

Of their tender human youth ! 



THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN 



ioy 



Lot them feel that this cold metallic motion 
Ls not all the life God fashions or reveals. 




Let them prove their living sonls against the notion 
That they live in you, or under you, wheels ! — 



Ill) P E M S F C 11 I L D H D. 

Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward, 
Grinding life down from its mark ; 

And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward. 
Spin on blindly in the dark. 

Now tell the poor young children, my brothers, 

To look up to Him and pray ; 
So the blessed One who blesseth all the others, 

Will bless them another day. 
They answer, ''Who is God that he should hear us, 

While the rushing of the iron wheel is stirred? 
When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us, 

Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word. 
And we hear not (for tin? wheels in their resounding) 

Strangers speaking at the door. 
Is it likely God, with angels singing round him. 

Hears our weeping any more ? 

•• Two words, indeed, of praying we remember, 

And at midnight's hour of harm, 
" Our Father," looking upward in the chamber, 

We say softly for a charm * 



* A fact rendered pathetically historical by Mr. Home's report of his 
commission. The name of the poet of" Orion" and " Cosmo de' Medici" 
has, however, a change of associations, and comes in time to remind me that 
we have some noble poetic heat of literature still, — however open to the 
reproach of being somewhat gelid in our humanity. — 18-44. 



Til !•: C R V F I II I. C II J L D B EN. Ill 

We know no other words, except "Our Father,' 1 

And we think that, in some pause of angels' song, 
Grod may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather, 
And hold both within his right hand which is strong. 
" Our Father!" If He heard us, Be would surely 

(For they call him good and mild) 
Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely. 
•■ Come and rest with me, my child." 

'" But no !" say the children, weeping /'aster, 

" He is speechless as a stone. 
And they tell us, of His image is the master 

Who commands us to work on. 
Go to !" say the* children, — " up in Heaven, 

Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find. 
Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving — 

We look up for God, but tears have made us blind." 
Do you hear the children weeping and disproving, 

my brothers, what ye preach ? 
For God's possible is taught by his world's loving, 

And the children doubt of each. 

And well may the children weep before you ! 

They are weary ere they run. 
They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory 

Which is brighter than the sun. 
They know the grief of man, without his wisdom. 



112 



POEMS OK CHILDHOOD 



They sink in man's despair, without its calm ; 
Arc slaves, without the liberty in Christdorn, 

Are martyrs, by the pang without (lie palm,— 
Are worn, as if with age, yet unretrievingly 

The harvest of its memories cannot reap, - 
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly. 
Let them weep ! let them weep ! 



They look up, with their pale and sunken laces. 

And their look is dread to see, 
For they mind you of their angels in high places. 

With eyes turned on Deity ! — 
" How long," they say, "how loug, cruel nation, 

Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's heart. 
Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation, 

And tread onward to your throne amid the mart ? 
Our blood splashes upward, gold-heaper, 

And your purple shows your path ! 
But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper 

Than the strong man in his wrath. 



THE DESERTED GARDEN 



113 




THE DESERTED GARDEN. 

T mivd me in the days departed, 
How often underneath the sun 
With childish bounds I used to run 
To a garden long- deserted. 

The beds and walks were vanished quite ; 
And wheresoever had struck the spade, 
The greenest grasses Nature laid, 
To sanctify her right. 

I called the place my wilderness, 
For no one entered there but I. 
The sheep looked in, the grass to espy, 
And passed it ne'ertheless. 



The trees were interwoven wild, 
And spread their boughs enough about 
To keep both sheep and shepherd out, 
But not a happy child. 



114 VO KM S V C II 1 L D B D. 

Adventurous joy it was for me ! 
1 crept beneath the boughs, and found 
A circle smooth iA' mossy ground 
Beneath a poplar-tree. 

Old garden rose-trees hedged it in, 
Bedropt with roses waxen white 
Well satisfied with dew and light 
And careless to he seen. 

Long years ago it might befall, 
When all the garden flowers were trim, 
The grave old gardener prided him 
On these the most of all. 

Some lady, stately overmuch, 
Here moving with a silken noise. 
Has blushed beside them at the voice 
That likened her to such. 

And these, to make a diadem, 
She often may have plucked and twined, 
Half-smiling as it came to mind 
That few would look at titan. 

Oh, little thought that lady proud, 

A child would watch her fair white rose, 



T H K I) E 8 E BT ED G A It I) K N. 

When (juried lay her whiter brows, 
Ami silk was changed for shroud I— 

Nor thought that gardener, (full of scorai 
For men unlearned and simple phrase,; 
A child would bring it all its praise, 
By creeping through the thorns ! 

To me upon my low moss seat, 
Though never a dream the roses sent 
Of science or love's compliment, 

I ween they smelt as sweet. 

It did not move my grief to see 
The trace of human step departed. 
Because the garden was deserted, 
The blither place for me I 

Friends, blame me not ! a narrow ken, 
Has childhood 'twixt the sun and sward 
We draw the moral afterward— 
We feel the gladness then. 

An.l gladdest hours for me did glide 

In silence at the rose-tree wall. 
A thrush made gladness musical 
Opon the other side. 



L15 



U ( ^ P E M S F C HI L I> H D . 

Nor he nor I did e'er incline 
To peck or pluck the blossoms white 
How should I know but roses might 
Lead lives as glad as mine ? 

To make my hermit-home complete, 
I brought clear water from the spring- 
Praised in its own low murmuring-, — 
And cresses glossy wet. 

And so, I thought, my likeness grew 
(Without the melancholy tale) 
To " gentle hermit of the dale," 
And Angelina too. 

For oft I read within my nook 
Such minstrel stories ; till the breeze 
Made sounds poetic in the trees, — 
And then I shut the book. 

If I shut this wherein I write 
I hear no more the wind athwart 
Those trees, — nor feel that childish heart 
Delighting in delight. 

My childhood from my life is parted, 
My footstep from the moss which drew 



T II E I) E s E RT E D G A R l» E N . 117 

Its fairy circle round : anew 
The garden is deserted. 

Another thrush may there rehearse 
The madrigals which sweetest are; 
No more for me! — myself afar 

Do sing a sadder verse. 

All rue, ah me ! when erst I lay 
In that child's-nest so greenly wrought, 
1 laughed unto myself and thought 
" The time will pass away." 

And still I laughed, and did not fear 
Hut that, whene'er was passed away 
The childish time, some happier play 

My womanhood would cheer. 

1 knew the time would pass away, 
And yet, beside the rose-tree wall, 
Dear God, how seldom, if at all, 
Did 1 look up to pray ! 

The time is past ; — and now that grows 
The cypress high among the trees, 
And I behold white sepulchres 
As well as the white rose, — 



US PO E M S F C II 1 L D 11 1> 

When graver, meeker thoughts are given, 
And 1 have learnt to lift my face, 
Reminded how earth's greenest place 
The colour draws from heaven, — 

It something saith for earthly pain, 
But more for Heavenly promise free, 
That I who was, would shrink to be 
That happy child again. 



HECTOR IN THE GARDEN. 

Nine years old ! The first of any 
Seem the happiest years that come. 
Yet when /was nine, I said 
No such word ! — I thought instead 

That the Greeks had used as many 
In besieging Ilium. 

Nine green years had scarcely brought me 

To my childhood's haunted spring. 

I had life, like (lowers and bees 

In betwixt the country trees. 
And the sun the pleasure taught me 

Which he teacheth every thing. 



HECTOR IX THE GARDEN. Ill) 

[f the rain fell, there \v;is sorrow. 

Little head leant en the pane, 
Little finger drawing down it 
The long trailing drops upon it, 
And the "Rain, rain, come to-morrow/' 
Said lor charm againsl the rain. 

Such ;i charm was right Canidian 

Though yen meet it with ;i jeer \ 

If I said it long enough, 

Then the rain hummed dimly oil", 
And the thrush with his pure Lydian 

Was left Onlv to the ear : 



And the sun and I togetlh r 

Went a-rushing out of doors ! 

We, our tender spirits, drew 

Over hill and dale in view, 
Glimmering hither, glimmering thither, 

In the footsteps of the showers. 

Underneath the chestnuts dripping, 
Through the grasses wet and fair, 
Straight I sought my garden-ground. 
With the laurel on the mound, 

And the pear-tree oversweeping 
A side-shadow of green air. 



120 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

In the garden lay supinely 

.V huge giant wrought of spade ! 

Anus and logs were stretched at length, 

In a passive giant strength, — 

The line meadow-turf, cut finely, 
Round them laid and interlaid. 

Call him Hector, son of Priam ! 

Such his title and degree. 

With my rake I smoothed his brow, 

Both his cheeks I weeded through, 
But a rhymer such as I am, 

Scarce can sing his dignity. 

Eyes of gentiancllas azure, 

Staring, winking - at the skies. 

Nose of gillyflowers and box. 

Scented grasses put for locks, 
Which a little breeze, at pleasure, 

Set a-waviug round his eyes. 

Brazen helm of daffodillies, 

With a glitter toward the light. 
Purple violets for the mouth, 
Breathing perfumes west and south ; 

And a sword of flashing lilies, 
Holden ready for the fiffht. 



HECTOR IN THE GARDEN. 121 

And a breastplate made of daisies, 

Closely fitting, lea on leaf. 

Periwinkles interlaced 

Drawn for belt about the waist ; 
While the brown bees, humming praises, 

Shot their arrows round the chief. 

And who knows, (T sometimes wondered. ) 

If the disembodied soul 

Of old Hector, once of Troy, 

Might not take a dreary joy 
Here to enter— if it thundered, 

Rolling up the thunder-roll ? 

Rolling this way from Troy-ruin, 

In this body rude and rife 

Just to enter, and take rest 

'Neath the daisies of the breast — 
They, with tender roots, renewing 

His heroic heart to life ? 

Who could know ? I sometimes started 

At a motion or a sound ! 

Did his mouth speak — naming Troy, 

With an ororororot ? 
Did the pulse of the Strong-hearted 

Make the daises tremble round ? 



122 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

It was hard to answer, often : 
But the birds sang in the tree — 
But the little birds sang bold 
In the pear-tree green and old, 

And my terror seemed to soften 
Through the courage of their glee. 

Oh, the birds, the tree, the ruddy 

And white blossoms, sleek with rain ! 

Oh, my garden, rich with pansies ! 

Oh, my childhood's bright romances ! 
All revive, like Hector's body, 

And I see them stir again ! 

And despite life's changes — chances, 
And despite the deathbell's toll, 
They press on me in full seeming ! 
Help, some angel ! stay this dreaming 

As the birds sang in the branches, 
Sing God's patience through my soul ! 

That no dreamer, no neglecter 
Of the present's work unsped, 
I may wake up and be doing, 
Life's heroic ends pursuing, 

Though my past is dead as Hector, 
And though Hector is twice dead. 



TO BETTINE. 



123 




TO BETTINE, 



THE CHILD-FRIEND OF GOETHE. 



I have the second sight, Goethe !" — Letters of a child. 



Rettixe, friend of Goethe, 
Hadst thou the second sight — 
Upturning worship and delight 

With such a loving duty 
To his grand face, as women will, 
The childhood 'ncath thine eyelids still ? 



1'24 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Before his shrine to doom thee 
Using the same child's smile 
That heaven and earth, beheld erewhile 

For the first time, won from thee, 
Ere star and flower grew dim and dead, 
Save at his feet and o'er his head ? 

Digging thine heart and throwing 
Away its childhood's gold, 
That so its woman-depth might hold 

His spirit's overflowing. 
For singing sonls, no worlds can bound, 
Their channel in the heart have found. 

child, to change appointed, 
Thou hadst not second sight ! 
What eyes the future view aright, 

1 nless by tears anointed? 

Yea, only tears themselves can show 
The burning ones that have to flow. 

woman, deeply loving, 
Thou hadst not second sight ! 
The star is very high and bright, 

And none can see it moving. 
Love looks around, below, above, 
Yet all his prophecy is — love. 



TO 15 ETT I N E. 125 

The bird thy childhood's playing 
Sent onward o'er the sea, 
Thy dove of hope came back to thee 

Without a leaf. Art Laying 
Its wet cold wing no sun can dry, 
Still in thy bosom secretly? 

Our Goethe's friend, Bettine, 
I have the second sight ! 

The stone noon his grave is white, 

The funeral stone between ye ; 
And in thy mirror thou hast viewed 
Some change as hardly understood. 

Where's childhood? where is Goethe? 

The tears are in thine eyes. 
Nay, thou shalt yet reorganize 

Thy maidenhood of beauty 
In his own glory, which is smooth 
Of wrinkles and sublime in youth 

The poet's arms have wound thee, 
He breathes upon thy brow, 
He lifts thee upward in the glow 

Of his grea< genius round thee,- 
The child-like poet undefined 
Preserving- evermore Thk Child. 



120 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD 




A SONG AGAINST SINGING. 

To E. J. H. 

They bid me sing to thee, 
Thou golden-haired and silver-voiced child, — 
With lips by no worse sigh than sleep's defiled, 
With eyes unknowing how tears dim the sight, 
And feet all trembling at the new delight 

Treaders of earth to be ! 

Ah no ! the lark may bring 
A song to thee from out the morning cloud, 
The merry river from its lilies bowed, 
The brisk rain from the trees, the lucky wind, 
That half doth make its music, half doth find, — 

Rut I— J may not sing. 



IIovv could I think it right, 
New-comer on our earth as, Sweet, thou art, 
To bring a verse from out an human heart 
Made heavy with accumulated tears, 
And cross with such amount of weary years 

Thy day-sum of delight ? 



A SONG AGAINST SINGING. 127 

Even if the verse were said, 
Thou, who wouldst clap thy tiny hands to hear 
The wind or rain, gay bird or river clear, 
Wouldst, at that sound of sad humanities, 
Upturn thy bright uncomprehending eyes 

And bid me play instead. 

Therefore no song of mine, — 
But prayer in place of singing ; prayer that would 
Commend thee to the new-creating God, 
Whose gift is childhood's heart without its .stain 
Of weakness, ignorance, and changing vain — 

That gift of God be thine ! 

So wilt thou aye be young, 
In lovelier childhood than thy shining brow 
And pretty winning accents make thee now. 
Yea, sweeter than this scarce articulate sound 
(How sweet !) of " father," " mother," shall be found 

The Abba on thy tongue. 



And so, as years shall chase 
Each other's shadows, thou wilt less resembl 
Thy fellows of the earth who toil and trembh 
Than him thou seest not, thine angel bold 
Yet meek, whose ever-lifted eyes behold 

The Ever-loving's face. 



L28 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 




SLEEPING AND WATCHING 

Sleep on, baby, on the floor, 

Tired of all the playing ! 
Sloop with smile the sweeter for 

That you dropped away in ! 
On your curls' full roundness, stand 

Golden lights serenely. 
One cheek, pushed out by the hand, 

Folds the dimple inly. 
Little head and little foot 

Heavy laid for pleasure, 
Underneath the lids half shut, 

Slants the shining azure. — 
Open soul in noonday sun, 

So, you lie and slumber ! 
Nothing evil having done, 

Nothing can encumber. 



T, who cannot sleep as well, 
Shall I sigh to view yon ? 



8 L E E P 1 X G A N 1) W A T C II I N G . 1 2!) 

Or sigh further to foretell 

All that may undo you ? 
Nay, keep Bmiling, little child, 

Ere the sorrow neareth. 
I will smile too ! patience mild 

Pleasure's token weareth. 
Nay, keep sleeping before loss. 

I shall sleep, though losing ! 
As by cradle, so by cross, 

Sure is the reposing. 



And God knows who sees us twain, 

Child at childish leisure, 
I am near as tiled of pain 

As you seem of pleasure. 
Very soon too, by His grace 

Gently wrapt around me, 
Shall I show as calm a face, 

Shall I sleep as soundly. 
Differing in this, that you 

Clasp your playthings, sleeping, 
While my hand shall drop the few 

Given to my keeping. 
Differing in this, that 1 

Sleeping shall be colder, 
And in waking presently, 

Brighter to beholder. 
6* 



130 I'O EM S o F C K I I- D II <> I). 

Differing in this beside 

(Sleeper, have you heard me? 
Do you move, and open wide 

Eyes of wonder toward me !) 
That while you I thus recall 

From your sloop, I solely, 
Me from mine an angel shall, 

With reveille holy. 



THE LOST BOWER. 
In the pleasant orchard closes, 

"God bleSS all our gains," say we ; 
But "May God bless all our losses," 
Better suits with our degree. 
Listen gentle — ay, and simple ! listen children on the knee 



Green the land is where my daily 
Steps in jocund childhood played, 
Dimpled close with hill and valley, 
Dappled very close with shade ; 
Summer-snow of apple blossoms running up from glade to 
-lade. 

There is one hill I see nearer 
In my vision of the rest ; 



T H 6 LO S T B W E R. 131 

And a little wood scorns clearer 
As it climbeth from the west, 
Sideway from the tree-locked valley, to the airy upland 
crest. 

Small the wood is, green with hazels, 
And, completing the ascent. 
Where the wind blows and sun dazzles 
Thrills in leafy tremblemcnt, 
Like a heart that, after climbing, beateth quickly through 
content. 

Not a step the wood advances 
O'er the open hill-top's bound. 
There, in green arrest, the branches 
See their image on the ground : 
You may walk beneath them smiling, glad with sight and 
glad with sound. 

For you harken on your right hand, 
How the birds do leap and call 
In the gieenwood, out of sight and 
Out of reach and fear of all ; 
And the squirrels crack the filberts through their cheerful 
madrigal. 

On your left, the sheep are cropping 
The slant grass and daisies pale, 



loJ POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

And five apple-trees stand dropping 

Separate shadows toward the vale, 
Over which in choral silence, the hills look you their "All 

hail !" 

Far out, kindled by each other, 
Shining' hills on hills arise, 
Close as brother leans to brother 
When they press beneath the eyes 
Of some father praying blessings ironi the gifts of paradise. 

While beyond, above them mounted. 
And above their woods also, 
Malvern hills, for mountains counted 
Not unduly, loom a-row — 
Keepers of Piers Plowman's visions through the sunshine 
and the snow.* 

Yet, in childhood, little prized I 
That fair walk and far survey. 
'Twas a straight walk unadvised by 
The least mischief worth a nay ; 
Op and down — as dull as grammar on the eve of holiday. 

But the wood, all close and clenching 
Bough in bough and root in root, — 



* The Malvern Hills of Worcestershire are the scene of Langlande's vi- 
sions, and thus present the earliest classic ground of English poetry. 



I 11 K LO ST BO W E K. 133 

No more sky (for overbranching) 
At your head than at your foot, — 
Oli, the wood drew me within it, by a glamour past dispute. 



Few and broken paths showed through it, 
Where the sheep had tried to run, — 
Forced with snowy wool to strew it 
Round the thickets, when anon 
They with silly thorn-pricked noses, bleated hack into the 
sun. 

But my childish heart beat stronger 
Than those thickets dared to grow : 
/could pierce them ! /"could longer 
Travel on, methonght, than so. 
Sheep tor sheep-paths ! braver children climb and creep 
where thev would ero. 



Aral the poets wander, said I, 
Over places all as rude. 
Bold Rinaldo's lovely lady 
Sate to meet him in a wood 
Rosalinda, like a fountain, laughed out pure with solitude. 

And if Chaucer had not travelled 
Through a forest by a well, 



134 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Ho had never dreamt nor marvelled 
At those ladies fair and fell 
Who lived smiling- without loving- in their island-citadel. 



Thus I thought of the old singers, 
And took courage from their song, 
Till my little struggling fingers 
Tore asunder gyve and thong 
Of the brambles which entrapped me, and the barrier 
branches strong. 

On a day, such pastime keeping, 
AVith a fawn's heart debonair, 
Under-crawling, overleaping 
Thorns that prick and boughs that bear, 
I stood suddenly astonied — I was gladdened unaware. 

From the place I stood in, floated 
Back the covert dim and close, 
And the open ground was coated 
Carpet-smooth with grass and moss, 
And the blue-bell's purple presence signed it worthily across. 

Here a linden-tree stood, brightning 

All adown its silver rind ; 

For as some trees draw the lightning, 



THE LOST BOAV E II- 



135 



So this tree, unto my mind, 
Drew to earth the blessed sunshine from the sky where it 
was shrined. 




Tall the linden-tree, and near it 
An old hawthorn also grew ; 



136 po e ms o f c n i i- nil o o D 

And wood-ivy like a spirit 
Hovered dimly round the two, 
Shaping thence that bower ot beauty which I sing of thus 
to you. 

'Twas a bower for garden fitter 
Than for any woodland wide. 
Though a fresh and dewy glitter 
Struck it through from side to side, 
Shaped and shaven was the freshness, as by garden-cunning 
plied. 

Oh, a lady might have come there, 
, Hooded fairly like her hawk, 
With a book or lute in summer, 
And a hope of sweeter talk — 
Listening* less to her owr> music than for footsteps on the 
walk. 

But that bower appeared a marvel 
In the wildness of the place ; 
With such seeming art and travail, 
Finely fixed and fitted was 
Leaf to leaf the dark-green ivy, to the summit from the 
base. 

And the ivy veined and g'lossy 
Was enwrought with eglantine ; 
And the wild hop fibred closely, 



THE LOST BOWER. 137 

And the, large-leaved columbine, 

Arch of door and window nmllion, did right sylvanly 
entwine. 

Rose-trees either side the door were 
Growing lithe and growing' tall, 
Each one set a summer warder 
For the keeping of the hall, — 

With a red rose and a white rose, leaning, nodding at the 
wall. 

As I entered — mosses hushing 
Stole all noises from my foot ; 
And a green elastic cushion, 
Clasped within the linden's root, 
Took me in a chair of silence very rare and absolute. 

All the floor was paved with glory, 
Greenly, silently inlaid, 
(Through quick motions made before me) 
With fair counterparts in shade 
Of the fair serrated ivy-leaves which slanted overhead. 

" Is such pavement in a palace V 
So I questioned in my thought. 
The sun, shining through the chalice 
Of the red rose hung without, 
Threw within a red libation, like an answer to my doubt. 



lo8 P E M S F CHI L D HOOD. 

At the same time, on the linen 
Of my childish lap there fell 
Two white may-leaves, downward winning 
Through the ceiling's miracle, 
From a blossom, like an angel, out of sight yet blessing 
well 

Down to floor and up to ceiling 
Quick I turned my childish face, 
With an innocent appealing 
For the secret of the place 
To the trees, which surely knew it, in partaking of the 
grace. 

Where's no loot of human creature, 
How could reach a human hand? 
And if this be work of nature, 
Why has nature turned so bland, 
Breaking off from other wild work? It was hard to under- 
stand. 

Was she weary of rough-doing, — 

Of the bramble and the thorn ? 
Did she pause in tender rueing 
Here of all her sylvan scorn ? 
Or, in mock of art's deceiving, was the sudden mildness 

worn ? 

Or could this same bower (I fancied) 
Be the work of Dryad strong, 



THE LOST BOWER. 139 

Who, surviving all that chanced 
In the world's old pagan wrong, 
Lay hid, feeling in the woodland on the last true poet's song ? 

Or was this the house of fairies, 
Left, because of the rough ways, 
L T nassoiled by Ave Marys 
Which the passing pilgrim prays, 
And beyond St. Catherine's chiming* on the blessed Sabbath 
days ? 

So, young muser, I sate listening 
To my fancy's wildest word. 
On a sudden, through the glistening 
Leaves around, a little stirred, 
Came a sound, a sense of music, which was rather felt than 
heard. 

Softly, finety, it in wound me ; 
From the world it shut me in, — 
Like a fountain, falling round me, 
Which with silver waters thin 
Clips a little water Naiad sitting smilingly within. 

Whence the music came, who knoweth ? 
/ know nothing. But indeed 
Pan or Faunus never bloweth 
So much sweetness from a reed 
Which has sucked the milk of waters at the oldest riverhead. 



140 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Never lark the suu can waken 
With such sweetness ! when the lark. 
The high planets overtaking 
In the half-evanished Dark, 
Casts his singing to their singing, like an arrow to the 
mark. 

Never nightingale so singeth. 
Oh, she leans on thorny tree, 
And her poet-song- she flingeth 
Over pain to victory ! 
Yet she never sings such music, — or she sings it not to me. 

Never blackbirds, never thrushes. 
Nor small finches sing as sweet, 
When the sun strikes through the bushes 
To their crimson clinging feet, 
And their pretty eyes look sideways to the summer heavens 
complete. 

If it were a bird, it seemed 
Most like Chaucer's, which, in sooth, 
He of green and azure dreamed, 
While it sate in spirit-ruth 
On that bier of a crowned lady, singing nigh her silent 
mouth. 

If it were a bird ! — ah, skeptic, 
Give me "yea" or give me "nay" — 



T II E LO ST 15 W ER. 141 

Though my soul were nynipholeptic, 
As 1 heard that virelay, 
You may stoop your pride to pardon, for my sin is far away. 

I rose up in exaltation 
And an inward trembling heat, 
And (it seemed) in geste of passion 
Dropped the music to my feet 
Like a garment rustling downwards ! — such a silence fol- 
lowed it. 

Heart and head beat through the quiet 
Full and heavily, though slower. 
In the song*, I think, and by it, 
Mystic Presences of Power 
Had up-snatched me to the Timeless, then returned me to 
the Hour. 

In a child-abstraction lifted, 
Straightway from the bower I past. 
Foot and soul being dimly drifted 
Through the greenwood, till, at last, 
In the hill-top's open sunshine I all consciously was cast. 

Face to face with the true mountains 
I stood silently and still, 
Drawing strength from fancy's dauntings, 
From the air about the hill, 
And from Nature's open mercies, and most debonair goodwill. 



142 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Oh, the golden-hearted daisies 
Witnessed there, before my youth, 
To the truth of things with praises 
Of the beauty of the truth, 
And I woke to Nature's real, laughing joyfully for both. 

And I said within me, laughing, 
1 have found a bower to-day, 
A green lusus— fashioned half in 
Chance, and half in Nature's play — 
And a little bird sings nigh it, I will nevermore missay. 

Henceforth, /will be the fairy 
Of this bower not built by one ; 
I will go there, sad or merry, 
With each morning's benison, 
And the bird shall be my harper in the dream-hall I have 
won. 

So I said. But the next morning, 
( — Child, look up into my face — 
'Ware, oh skeptic, of your scorning* ! 
This is truth in its pure grace !) 
The next morning, all had vanished, or my wandering missed 
the place. 

Bring an oath most sylvan holy, 

And upon it swear me true — 

By the wind-bells swinging slowly 



THE LOST BOWER 



143 



Their mute curfews in the dew, 
By the advent of the snow-drop, by the rosemary and rue,- 







I affirm by all or any, 

Let the cause be charm or chance, 



1 4:4 p E M S F C H I L I) II (> D . 

That my wandering searches many 
Missed the bower of my romance — 
That I nevermore, upon it, turned my mortal countenance. 

I affirm that, since I lost it, 
Never bower has seemed so fair ; 
Never Garden-creeper crossed it, 
With so deft and brave an air — 
Never bird sung in the summer, as I saw and heard them 
there. 

Day by day, with new desire, 
Toward my wood I ran in faith, 
Under leaf and over brier, 
Through the thickets, out of breath — 
Like the prince who rescued Beauty from the sleep as long- 
as death. 

But his sword of mettle clashed 
And his arm smote strong, 1 ween, 
And her dreaming spirit flashed 
Through her body's fair white screen, 
And the light thereof might guide him up the cedar alleys 



But for me, I saw no splendour — 
All my sword was my child-heart ; 
And the wood refused surrender 



THE LOST BOWER. 14. r ) 

Of that bower it held apart, 
Safe as (Edipus's grave-place, 'mid Colone's olive swart. 

As Aladdin sought the basements 
• His fair palace rose upon, 

And the four-and-twenty casements 
Which gave answers to the sun; 
So, in wilderment of gazing I looked up, and I looked down 

Years have vanished since as wholly 
As the little bower did then ; 
And you call it tender folly 
That such thoughts should come again ? 
Ah, 1 cannot change this sighing for your smiling, brother 
men ! 

For this loss it did prefigure 
Other loss of better good, 
When my sold, in spirit-vigour 
And in ripened womanhood, 
Fell from visions of more beauty than an arbour in a wood. 

I have lost — oh, many a pleasure, 
Many a hope, and many a power — 
Studious health, and merry leisure, 
The first dew on the first flower ! 
Rut the first of all my losses was the losing of the bower. 

7 



I 4() PO E M S F C 11 1 LD 11 O O D. 

1 have lost the dream of Doing, 

And the other dream of Done, 
The first spring- in the pursuing, 
The lirst pride in the Begun, — 
First recoil from incompletion, in the face of what is won — 

Exaltations in the far light 

Where some cottage only is; 
Mild dejections in the starlight, 
Which the sadder-hearted miss ; 
And the child-cheek blushing- scarlet for the very shame ^[' 
bliss. 

I have lost the sound child-sleeping 
Which the thunder could not break ; 
Something too of the strong leaping 
Of the staglike heart awake. 
Which the pale is low for keeping in the road it ought to 
take. 

Some respect to social fictions 
lias been also lost by me ; 
And some generous genuflexions, 
Which my spirit offered free 
To the pleasant old conventions of our false humanity. 

All my losses did I tell you, 

Ye, perchance, would look away ; — 

Ye would answer me. " Farewell ! von 



T U E LOST B OWES. 147 

Make sad company to-day, 
And your tears are falling faster than tho bitter words yon 
say." 

For God placed me like a dial 
In the open ground with power. 
And my heart had for its trial 
All the sun and all the shower ! 
And 1 suffered many losses, — and my first was of the bower. 

Laugh yon ? If that loss of mine be 
Of no heavy-seeming weight — 

When the cone falls from the pine-tree 
The young- children laugh thereat ; 
Yet the wind that struck it, riseth, and the tempest shall be 
great. 

One who knew me in my childhood 
In the glamour and the game 
Looking on me long- and mild, would 
Never know me for the same. 
Come, unchanging recollections, were those changes over- 
came. 

By this couch I weakly lie on. 
While I count my memories, — 
Through the fingers which, still sighing, 
I press closely on mine eyes. — 
(lear as once beneath the sunshine, I behold tho bower arise. 



1 48 P E M S F CHILDHOOD. 

Springs the linden-tree as greenly, 

Stroked with light adown its rind ; 
And the ivy-loaves serenely 
Eaeh in either intertwined ; 
And the rose-trees at the doorway, they have neither grown 

nor pined. 

From those overblown faint roses 
Not a leaf appeareth shed. 
And that little bud discloses 
Not a thorn's-breadth more of red 
For the winters and the summers which have passed me 
overhead. 

And that music overfloweth, 
Sudden sweet, the sylvan eaves. 
Thrush or nightingale — who knoweth ? 
Fay or Faunus — who believes ? 
But my heart still trembles in me, to the trembling of the 
leaves. 

Ts the bower lost, then ? who sayoth 
That the bower indeed is lost ? 
Hark ! my spirit in it prayeth 
Through the sunshine and the frost, — 
And the prayer preserves it greenly, to the last and utter- 
most. 



A T A L E F V I L L A F R A N A. 149 

Till another open for me 
In God's Eden-land unknown, 
With an angel at the doorway 
White with gazing at His Throne, 
And a saint's voire in the palm-trees, singing — " All is lost 
. . . and won /" 



A TALE OF VILLAFRANCA. 

TOLD IX TUSCANY, 

My little son, my Florentine, 

Sit down beside my knee, 
And I will tell yon why the sign 

Of joy which flushed our Italy 

lias faded since but yesternight ; 
And why your Florence of delight 
Is mourning as you see. 

A great man (who was crowned one day) 

Imagined a great Deed : 
He shaped it out of cloud and clay, 

He touched it finely till the seed 
Possessed the flower: from heart and brain 
He fed it with largo thoughts humane, 

To help a people's need. 



150 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

He brought it out into the sun — 

They blessed it to his face : 
" great pure Deed, that hast undone 

So many bad and base ! 
generous Deed, heroic Deed, 
Come forth, be perfected, succeed, 

Deliver by God's grace.' 7 

Then sovereigns, statesmen, north and south, 

Rose up in wrath and fear, 
And cried, protesting' by one mouth, 

" What monster have we here ? 
A great Deed at this hour of day ? 
A great just Deed— and not for pay? 

Absurd, — or insincere. 

"And if sincere, the heavier blow 

In that case we shall bear, 
For where's our blessed ' status quo,' 

Our holy treaties, where, — 
Or rights to sell a race, or buy, 
Protect and pillage, occupy, 

And civilize despair?" 

Some muttered that the great Deed meant 

A great pretext to sin ; 
And others, the pretext, so lent, 

Was heinous (to begin). 



A TALE OF VILLA FRANC A. 151 

Volcanic terms of " great" and "just?" 
Admit such tongues of flame, the crust 
Of time and law falls in. 

A great Deed in this world of ours ? 

Unheard ot the pretence is : 
It threatens plainly the great Powers ; 

Is fatal in all senses. 
A just Deed in the world ? — call out 
The rifles ! be not slack about 

The national defences. 

And many murmured, " From this source 

What red blood must be poured !" 
And some rejoiced, " 'Tis even worse ; 

What red tape is ignored !" 
All cursed the Doer for an evil 
Called here, enlarging on the Devil, — 

There, monkeying the Lord ! 

Some said, it could not be explained, 

Some, could not be excused ; 
And others, "Leave it ..unrestrained, 

Gehenna's self is loosed." 
And all cried, " Crush it, maim it, gag it, 
Set dog-toothed lies to tear it ragged, 

Truncated and traduced !" 



152 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

But He stood sad before the sun, 
(The peoples felt their fate). 

" The world is many, — I am one ; 
My great Deed was too great. 

God's fruit of justice ripens slow : 

Men's souls are narrow ; let them grow. 
My brothers, we must wait." 

The tale is ended, child of mine, 

Turned graver at my knee. 
They say your eyes, my Florentine, 

Are English : it ma}' be : 
And yet I've marked as blue a pair 
Following the doves across the square 

At Venice by the sea. 

Ah, child ! ah, child ! I cannot say 
A word more. You conceive 

The reason now, why just to-day 
We see our Florence grieve. 

Ah, child ! look up into the sky ! 

In this low world, where great Deeds die, 
What matter if we live? 



A PORTRAIT 



15o 




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A PORTRAIT. 



"One name is Elizabeth."— Ben Jonson. 

I will paint her as I see her. 
Ten times have the lilies blown, 
Since she looked upon the sun. 

7* 



-154 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

And her face is lily-clear, 

Lily-shaped, and dropped in duty 
To the law of its own beauty 

Oval cheeks encoloured faintly, 
Which a trail of golden hair 
Keeps from fading off to air : 

And a forehead fair and saintly, 
Which two blue eyes undershine, 
Like meek prayers before a shrine. 

Face and figure of a child, — 

Though too calm, you think, and tender. 
For the childhood you would lend her. 

Yet child-simple, undefiled, 

Frank, obedient, — waiting still 
On the turnings of your will. 

Moving light, as all your things. 
As young birds, or early wheat, 
When the wind blows over it. 

Only, free from flutterings 

Of loud mirth that seorneth measure- 
Taking love for her chief pleasure. 



A PORTRAIT. 



155 



Choosing pleasures, for the rest, 
Which come softly — just as she, 
When she nestles at your knee. 




Quiet talk she liketh best, 
In a bower of gentle looks — 
Watering flowers, or reading books. 



And her voice it, murmurs lowly 
As a silver stream may run, 
Which vet feels, you feel, the sun. 



1 5G POEMS OF CHI L I) HOOD. 

And her smile, it seems half* holy, 
As if drawn from thoughts mure fair 
Than our common jestings arc. 

And if any poet knew her, 

He would sing- of her with falls 
Used in lovely madrigals. 

And if any painter drew her, 
lie would paint her unaware 
With a halo round the hair. 

And if reader read the poem, 

He would whisper — "You have done a 
Consecrated little Una." 

.Vnd a dreamer (did you show him 
That same picture) would exclaim, 
"'Tis my angel, with a name I" 

And a stranger, when he sees her 
In the street even — smileth stilly, 
Just as you would at a lily. 

And all voices that address her, 
Soften, sleeken every word, 
As if speaking to a bird. 



VOID IX LAW. 157 



And all fancies yearn to cover 

The bard earth whereon she passes; 
With the thymy scented grasses. 

And all hearts do pray, " God love her !"- 
Ay, and always, in good sooth, 
We may all be sure He doth. 



"VOID IX LAW. 



Sleep, little babe, on my knee, 
Sleep, for the midnight is chill, 

And the moon has died out in the tree, 
And the great human world goeth ill. 

Sleep, for the wicked agree : 
Sleep, let them do as they will. 

Sleep. 

Sleep, thou hast drawn from my breast 
The last drop of milk that was good ; 

And now, in a dream, suck the rest, 
Lest the real should trouble thy blood. 

Suck, little lips dispossessed, 

As we kiss in the air whom we would 

Sleep. 



158 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 

lips of thy father ! the same, 

So like ! Very deepty they swore 
When he gave me his ring and his name, 

To take back, I imagined, no more ! 
And now is all changed like a game, 

Though the old cards are used as of yore ? 
Sleep. 

" Void in law," said the Courts. Something wrong 
In the forms ? Yet, " Till death part us two, 

I, James, take thee, Jessie," was strong, 
And One witness competent. True 

Such a marriage was worth an old song, 

Heard in Heaven though, as plain as the New. 

Sleep. 

Sleep, little child, his and mine ! 

Her throat has the antelope curve, 
And her cheek just the color and line 

Which fade not before him nor swerve : 
Yet she has no child ! — the divine 

Seal of right upon loves that deserve. 
Sleep. 

My child ! though the world take her part, 
Saying, " She was the woman to choose, 
He had eyes, was a man in his heart," — 



VOI Ii IX LAW. 159 

We twain the decision refuse : 
We . . weak as I am, as thou art, . . 

Cling on to him, never to loose. 
Sleep. 

He thinks that, when done with this place, 
All's ended ? he'll new-stamp the ore ? 

Yes, Caesar's — but not in our case. 
Let him learn we are waiting before 

The grave's mouth, the heaven's gate, God's face. 
With .implacable love evermore. 

Sleep. 

lie's ours, though he kissed her but now ; 

He's ours, though she kissed in reply ; 
He's ours, though himself disavow, 

And God's universe favour the lie ; 
Ours to claim, ours to clasp, ours below, 

Ours above, . . if we live, if we die. 
Sleep. 

Ah baby, my baby, too rough 

Ts my lullaby ? What have I said ? 

Sleep ! When I've wept long enough 
T shall learn to weep softly instead, 

And piece with some alien stuff 

My heart to lie smooth for thy head. 

Sleep. 



100 



1' <> E M S OF fill I. D II o D . 



Two souls met upon thee, my Bweet ; 

Two loves led thee out to the sun : 
Alas, pretty hands, pretty feet, 

If the one who remains (only one) 
Set her grief at thee, turned in a heat 

To thine enemy, — were it well done. 
Sleep. 

May He of the manger stand near 
And love thee ! An infant He came 

To His own who rejected Him here, 
But the Magi brought gifts all the same 

/ hurry the cross on my Dear 1 

My gifts are the griefs 1 declaim ! 
Sleep. 




M V CHILD 



1()1 




MY CHILD. 

My child, we were two children, 
Small, merry by childhood's law ; 

We used to crawl to the hen-house. 
And hide ourselves in the straw. 

We crowed like cocks, and whenever 

The passers near us drew — 
Cock-a-doodle ! they thought 
'Twas a real cock that crew. 

The boxes about our courtyard 
We carpeted to our mind, 
And lived there both together — 
Kept house in a noble kind. 



The neighbor's old cat often 
Came to pay us a visit ; 
We made her a bow and curtsey 
Each with a compliment in it, 



162 



l'<> K M S (i K (' 11 I I, I> H (> (> D 



After her health we asked, 

Our care and regard to evince — 

(We have made the very same speeches 

To many an old eat since.) 

We also sate and wisely 
Discoursed, as old folks do. 
Complaining how all went better 
In those o-oo 1 times we knew, — 

How love and •truth, and believing 
Had left the world to itself, 
And how so dear was the coffee, 
And how so rare was the pelf. 

The children's games are over, 

The rest is over with youth — 

The world, the good games, the good times. 

The belief, and the love, and the truth. 




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